Perfect Officers Say No
by historicallylate
Summary: Sharon's friendship with Andy brings forth familiar patterns. Conversations on a theme, post "Poster Boy". Chapters can be read as stand-alones. See Ch1 for more details.
1. Chapter 1: The Signs

**A/N for the whole shebang (will update as needed):  
**_Sharon has always tried to do the right thing, but trying isn't always the same as doing. Scenes in the friendship (and more) of Andy and Sharon bring out parallels in Sharon's past..._

_This Frankenstein's monster is doctored from pre-s2.5 writing warm-up snippets that sorta went together. Comments/suggestions are humbly accepted and greatly appreciated.  
_

_Story will be as canon friendly as possible. Some minor OCs. Standard disclaimers apply.  
_

___Fully first draft material, apologies for Brit spelling and quality issues._  
_Sharon/Andy, minor parts of Rusty (Sharon/Rusty) and even lesser parts of other major characters.  
__Rating T, most likely staying, but no guarantees.  
__Genre Friendship/Romance. (style-wise Humour/Angst)  
____Possibly heavy on lighter stuff/what-I-call-humour. (I *was* warming up for a farce after all.)  
__This story takes into account my headcanon for The Wedding which you can read in "That Damn Wedding". Only mentioned in passing so no must-read.  
Chapters can be read as stand-alones._

_My first ever multi-chapter post-as-you-go-along fic/story, thus I'll start by apologizing in advance for lazy updates and not finishing (yes, I have little self-confidence but huge plans and bushels of ambition) so I don't have to do it in future chapters. You have been warned! ;)____  
_

_Phew, was that enough of background and pointless faffing to get you to skip to the actual story? ;)_

* * *

**Chapter 1/Prologue: The Signs**

Rusty often asked her the hard questions. They were not the ones involving suspects, crime and motives; nor love, family or money. The truly hard questions started with 'when (how, what or why) did you'.

It wasn't the explaining of her logic that was hard. She did most of the things she did according to the rules, either explicit or not, and rules were easy. Granted, breaking the rules was even easier, but the truly satisfying thing was to work with them to get exactly what you wanted. To her getting things to say what they weren't trying to say gave an odd sense of accomplishment.

Working the rules was the ultimate skill. It took her years and decades to learn, eventually leading her into a position where she would be the one to make some and still she found there always would be times she struggled.

Where rules didn't exist, was where routines gave her solace. She had build quite a palette of them over the years. Her two favourite ones were the morning and coming home.

Every morning, just like today, her morning routine would end up with her standing in front of her bathroom mirror, putting on her make-up and watching her green eyes looking back from the mirror and saying the seven magic words.

"Toe the line, just toe the line."

The routine built her up for the day. It was her armor, her cornerstone on which to lay the day.

Granted, after Rusty came into her life, her routines got a little dented. At first it somewhat freaked her out, but she promised herself she would be fine with it, she would survive. She would adjust and adjust she did.

Truth be told, had she known what she signed up for when she said he was her problem now, she might have been smarter to pass the situation up completely. Some days she wondered if there was anything of her precious pre-Rusty rules or routines still standing. In her heart of hearts she knew this was better though, for everyone. Life could get so stagnant so easily.

Stagnant this was not.

She was reminded of that fact the moment she rounded the corner and saw her door. The plainclothes officers standing at ease on either side were better decorations than garden gnomes, she had to give them that. They both nodded at her, she proceeded to walk in between them and put the key in the lock.

Barely was the door open when a teenage tornado swept through the short hallway.

"Sharon, where have you been! The detail's been haunting me the whole day, dropping in all the time to 'conduct a check'." The sarcastic way he weighted the words and dropped at his knees while making very pointed air quotes would have told anyone how he felt about his life right now. She had half a mind to tell him she had no power over that, being in the same boat and all, but saying it wouldn't win anything, so instead she kept quiet and proceeded with her coming home rituals.

Coat in the closet, shoes off, booties on. Jacket off, cardigan on, purse away. Lamp next to the couch on, walk to the kitchen, check the fridge. Good. A glass to drink (water today), a plate on the kitchen island, a bite to eat. This was home.

Rusty kept following her, with his legs until she got in the kitchen, then he flopped unceremoniously on a chair and kept following her with his eyes. He crossed his hands and leaned his arms and chin across the table while appraising her from under his (overly long, in Sharon's opinion, and in this context he might have agreed) blonde hair.

She didn't look mad. She didn't look annoyed. In fact, she didn't look even that tired. When he first came to live with Sharon, he would have said she rarely looked any of those things. It was unnerving really, how from apparent calm she could just snap. Then he learned the signs. Mad: eyes down, not a sound. Annoyed: quiet little puffs of sighs, jerky movements. Tired: minute stops, eyes periodically straying to the ceiling.

This was none of those things. This was plain weird. This was minute stops, sighs, eyes down and tilts of head. Sometimes he thought she hid an eye roll.

What the hell was this? Distracted? Embarrassed? Conflicted?

More importantly, about what?

Was that water? Coming in late the drink was always wine.

He got up and walked to the kitchen to get a snack. Passing Sharon looking into the fridge he almost stopped at the thought that she smelled like smoke. Yup, definitely weird.

She took a container of ready-made salad out, tipped some on her plate next to a sandwich and sat down to eat. Rusty reached in a cupboard for a handful of salty crackers. He turned around, leaned against the kitchen counter, started to munch on his snack and kept on watching her eat. She didn't look at him, didn't say a word.

Weird, weird and weird. Just plain weird.

Sharon got through her meager dinner, rose and tied her cardigan tighter around herself. She started collecting the dishes.

He didn't feel like getting the silent treatment for the rest of the foreseeable future, snap or snap in sight. He brushed the crumbs out of his hands into the sink and cleared his throat.

"So. Why are you late?"

She reached into her pocket, popped a mint in her mouth and took a deep breath. The questions she really didn't want to answer invariably started with a why.


	2. Chapter 2: The Most Dangerous Thing

**Chapter 2: The Most Dangerous Thing**

On the second day of having a protection detail staying no further than a wall away from her, Sharon had started getting the feeling she had had enough. Captain Raydor on the other hand showed no signs of even noticing uniformed or plainclothes officers (both sticking out just as sharply) following around every corner she took. After all, that was what she had been doing for ages now, walking in front of a spread of officers. Privately she was slowly but surely getting up the proverbial wall!

Things were not helped by constantly watching someone else lose it every couple of hours. Rusty was getting snappy and definitely not showing signs of willingness to adjust. Whoever said time travel wasn't possible, hadn't tried living with a surly teenager under a protection detail.

The good news was that apparently her condo was pretty well soundproofed, otherwise the neighbours would have beaten a path to her door with complaints of shouting and slamming doors at odd hours. She might have been reminded why police work in active divisions had sounded so unappealing when her kids were small. There was still fun to be had with midnight call-outs, she was sure.

That statement started to sound more and more true the moment she had exited the Chief's office after yet another fight about 'protecting police personnel' (ie. herself) 'against all threats to their person' (ie. some unsigned letter of the style of Rusty's addressed to her). Maybe the FID gig would have been best avoided had she known how much of very ironic hassle she ground out for herself during the years. A less Catholic person would have called it certain proof of karma at work.

Desolately she had locked herself into her office. The adrenaline shot she got from the visit to the Chief's office might as well go into some good use, namely finishing the tedious personnel evaluations for the supporting and civilian staff. Luckily there wasn't much to debate over, and she had in addition made a nice dent in other administrative pain-in-the-ass forms when Rusty had decided to make an appearance in a holy huff over the new rules in his protection.

She made a valiant effort of eight minutes to try and keep up with his complaints, even assuaging some or at least explaining the situation. When the ninth minute of adolescent ranting came about, she deemed her parental duty exhausted.

"Rusty, I will not try to respond to, or explain anything, while you are not listening. It's a waste of breath, not to mention of LAPD time."

He jumped up like a jack in the box and fled to the door, flinging it open with a flourish.

"Whatever, Sharon, whatever!"

"Rusty!"

He didn't want to hear it, instead he stormed out of the office, in the way almost flinging his backpack into the gut of one Andy Flynn, much taken aback by the surprise exit.

"Excuse you, kid."

"Yeah yeah. Save it for her, she's impossible!"

Flynn kept watching the boy exit with his shark-like entourage.

Sharon rubbed the bridge of her nose. Teenagers. Never again.

"Wow, your life must be so much fun."

"You can say that again."

He smiled and balanced on the balls of his feet.

"Want me to make it a little better?"

She was caught between shouting 'yes please' and chiding him for flirting in the office. Of course he wasn't flirting, Sharon, it's all in your head. The situation with Rusty might being fraying a lot more in her head than her nerves, that had sounded just like something she thought after his daughter's wedding.

Being that as it may, her original dilemma must have shown to warrant her receiving an amendment of, "I was talking about getting something to eat. Without Rusty or your charming protection detail. Give you a little break."

She studied him for a while. Was this a group invitation? Or was this just a 'I feel so sorry for your rotten life' invitation? Something else? She decided on an idle gesture amongst friends. Why not.

"I need to do a couple of things before, but if you don't mind the wait..."

"Not at all. Gives me a chance to clean my desk for one."

She peeked around him and saw a totally spotless desk, devoid of anything but the bare essentials. She smirked, but he was faster.

"You should see the drawers. Open one and out comes post-its from the seventies."

"I see." Not totally convinced, she wondered if she could come up with a diversion for going through his desk. Mentally shaking her head at the things she thought, she closed the subject with an "I'll try and hurry up."

He smirked, placed the file he had been carrying on her desk, slipped hands in pants pockets and ambled back to his desk. For some moments she watched him typing up something on the computer, making no move to clean anything.

One by one the squad dropped off their paperwork and said their good nights. She chatted with each one a few lines, just to build that team spirit and to quietly gauge their reactions to the way Rusty again managed to blur the lines she had worked so hard to build between home and office. No one said anything.

In fact, Provenza said absolutely nothing, only grunting something gruff before going back to sit out his turn to be on call. Him being on call seemed to coincide with the only times of him having absolutely no backlog in paperwork.

But that was the beauty of their partnership. She would do the brunt of the paperwork, she didn't really mind and it was nearly the same as to checking everything over after someone else had had a go. He would, in exchange, lend the squad his years of expertise in field investigations to a greater extend. Saved her from going out around the town all the time.

Not exactly how she imagined police work being when she first joined. Tao had been right saying that 90 percent of it was actually paperwork and the rest was 'the other stuff'. And 'the other stuff' didn't get you out, at home and in bed in a reasonable hour as much as she wanted.

She was (honestly!) just about finishing up when Andy walked back in with a slightly questioning look on his face. Or maybe it was starting to border more on the impatient.

"If I'd known you ate only after sundown, I would have kept my mouth."

She glanced at her watch and immediately started putting her things together. "Oh, I am so sorry. I completely lost myself here."

"Riveting stuff, I bet."

"Budget reviews for last month's miscellaneous expenditures. Yes, a real page turner that one."

"Rather you than me."

"I'm guessing that is the prevalent sentiment, at least if using my own view on the subject as a starting point."

"Come on then."

She glanced her desk to see everything ready for the night, picked up her purse from the shelf behind her after which she slid the cabinet doors closed, rose from her chair, walked across the office and grabbed her coat on the way out.

Andy was already putting on his coat in the murder room. When he was joined by Sharon, he took her purse and coat from her arm, laid her purse down on the nearest desk and stepped behind her to help her into her coat.

"Eh, Flynn! Get that crap out of my desk."

Andy rolled his eyes. Swear to God that man had a radar for things on his desk.

Sharon reached for the purse, stepping out into Provenza's sight line. "I'm sorry, Lieutenant. We were just leaving. I will take my 'crap' with me, no need to worry."

She nods a thanks to Andy before starting out towards the elevators. "Good night, Lieutenant!" she shot over her shoulder.

Provenza's face was dancing a jig of surprise, annoyance, dismay and a couple of other reactions Andy was too lazy to start to discern. He was interested in things totally different from what his friend's face muscles were capable of at that moment. However, he couldn't block out the quirked eyebrow and frantic hissing.

"Flynn, what the hell were you doing?"

"Showing some manners. Now lay off."

-x-

Their dinners mostly gone, easy conversations punctuated with comfortable silences, the subject of work only intermittently popping up in the conversation, Sharon decided this had been exactly what she needed. Company that didn't snap at her as every sixth word was definitely an improvement to her day.

It wasn't all Rusty's fault, of course. In fact, the charitable part of her was ready to argue that mostly it wasn't his fault. Never mind the attitude, never mind the not listening and never mind the not realising that she wasn't all that okay with things either. He was a teenager and she didn't expect all that much from him, but she was disappointed somewhat. The charitable part of her gave him the room for uncalled-for behaviour, teenager or not, since she wasn't all that blameless herself.

Case in point, her behaviour towards the man sitting before her. Friendships required some modicum of respect and a key ingredient to that respect, in her eyes, was honesty. Oh boy, she wasn't looking forward to this at all.

He was still picking at the remains of his side salad, wholly oblivious to the reasons she had been quiet this time.

She licked her lips while fiddling her glass. No, there was no other way to say this.

"You know I haven't been completely honest with you."

"Yeah?" He sounded a little baffled by that opening.

"Well, probably on more than one front, but this time I'm talking about the protection detail." She made a pause, again.

"Yeah?" He couldn't help but to repeat himself.

"Earlier, when you said 'your charming protection detail', you meant Rusty's, correct?"

"Yeah." He was starting to feel like an idiot for having only one response to everything she said. This time his answer sent her into another fit of fiddling.

"The thing is... That is to say —." Was there another way to say it? No, probably not. Be quick and out with it, was her inner advise that resulted in a mumbled output of "It's for me too."

He almost choked on a tomato.

"What? Sharon, what?" He scanned the room hastily, leaned in and whispered frantically, "Should we even be here?"

She rolled her eyes. "Andy, I carry a gun. You carry a gun. I think we are safe on an impromptu dinner."

"But still, Sharon! I didn't even know I should be looking for something."

"You don't. I'm perfectly capable of keeping an eye on possible surveillance and threats if needed."

"There is a need if you have a detail following you around." A probable conclusion. "Right?"

"No, I don't think so. There's no explicit threat. Just a letter. 'Stop or else', you know the style."

"We shouldn't be here without them. This is exactly the kind of stuff that ends up in an after-action report."

His frantic manner was getting the best of her. "Yes, absolutely. They specifically warned me not to accept spur of the moment dinner invitations with fellow police officers. Most dangerous thing I could do."

He eyed her disapprovingly. "Glibness doesn't suit you."

"Fine," was her curt response. "Then don't be an alarmist." She leant closer to him and waited him to close in a little more as well. "And stop whispering," she hissed.

His mouth opened in reply, but she cut his reply with a motion of her hand.

"You know as well as I do that threats rarely come into anything and one threat even more rarely still. Not to mention when you are not the one who is actually threatened, when you are used just as extra leverage." She felt a small lump forming in her throat. To think of all the horrible things Rusty had to face every day. Was it ever enough? She swallowed before continuing, "Whoever send the letter doesn't want me. The only thing they want me to do is to step back or better yet, tell Rusty to step back. Neither is going to happen, ever."

He kept looking around the eatery, taking appraising glances of the punters from the corners of his eyes. This certainly was too much!

"Andy, will you stop it, please! I'm here, I'm eating and I'm not spending the day looking over my shoulder. If you want to, go sit somewhere else or go home, you are starting to annoy me."

He almost jumped, probably not even realising what he was doing. "Fine. Sorry." He took one last look of the place after which he returned to look her in the eye. With a slightly lowered voice he admitted, "I just don't like this."

"Yeah, that's a pretty big club right now. In fact, I don't think there's anyone who likes this. I don't, Rusty certainly doesn't, Taylor likes my gun better, the city hates spending the money but hate the possible lawsuits even more, Rios hates the complications and the officers absolutely are having no picnic." As an afterthought, "And whoever is behind this would rather have both of us gone." Morbid, but there you had it. She had to smile a little crooked smile whilst throwing her hair over one shoulder in an effort to clear her mind of the subject. "Well, nothing brings people together like death threats."

"Now that's scary. You sounded exactly like Chief Johnson right then."

"Oh, my Southern accent must really be improving then." She tilted her head down and gave him a sweet smile punctuated with a one-sided little shrug. Suddenly he is back at her daughter's wedding and this is definitely not the Captain anymore, this is all Sharon. He can't help but laugh.

"Alright, I will trust you with this. My only hope is that whoever's targeting you won't be a lousy shot and take me down instead."

His attempt at a joke woke her up. "I'm sorry. I didn't think of that at all. Oh God, I'm so sorry! You should go."

Now it was her time to look frantically around the place. What if she had missed something! Had she missed something? It was one thing to knowingly do stupid things but —

"Sharon, it's fine."

"No, you shouldn't be here with me. What if someone actually tries to shoot me?" Bullets strayed easily. Not a long ago did they have their last gang shooting where again they had had children as a collateral. Oh no! Not that! "Come to think of it, I shouldn't be in public at all. I can't put people at risk like this."

She was now running through all the horrible scenarios. Maybe she should be looking over her shoulder more. Maybe she should start wearing her gun all the time. When was the last time she had worn it off-duty? She couldn't remember. Maybe it was during some late night when she forgot to put it away. Or maybe a shooting range? Or —

"Sharon!" He had raised his voice a little too much judging by the eyes that turned in their direction. He didn't care, there were only two eyes he was interested in having in his direction right now. He had to stop her from freaking out, shutting down on him and reason with her.

Levelly, like calming down a victim's family, he made his case. "It's a long leap from an anonymous, slightly threatening letter to all-in shoot-out in public. It's not going to happen. Everyone's alright."

He reached to squeeze her hand and held her eyes until blinking made her look softer. She was coming back, seeing the reason.

"Still," was her meek reply.

"Sharon, you can't predict what's going to happen. Trust your instinct, trust your training. You are still free, you don't have protection forced on you and no-one's thinking that you are a threat to others. So breathe, check what you want for dessert and eat up."

She didn't know what else to do at this, so she just nodded and did as she was told. She had to admit it, the man was good with bewildered people. The honest dark eyes boring into your soul didn't hurt either. She was reminded why she kept dragging him to talk to every Tom, Dick and Harry. And perhaps his FI file was the reason why she kept doing her best veering him away from scumbag suspects. Just maybe.

Her lips quirked at the thought.

"That's better. Now, what's it going to be?"

"Raspberry cheesecake, I adore the fresh raspberries."

He nodded and went to get the desserts.

The rest of the dinner didn't share the same easiness they had during the main course. She felt a little guilty about ruining the evening. She started to apologise several times but he would never hear of it, brushing her first attempts off by saying that he was only glad she had trusted to tell him.

If he wasn't going to take her apology, she made damn sure that he wouldn't spend a dime on the dinner. It required some negotiation, three firm looks she reserved for chiding Rusty's less than sociable traits and a quick subterfuge with a credit card. When his card came back without a receipt and she sported a decidedly victorious smile, he finally conceded.

Chuckling he walked her to her car. She thanked him profusely for the respite the dinner turned out to be (unfortunate admissions included) and he thanked her nearly as warmly for the company. They both smiled at their matching replies of 'what friends are for' as she turned to unlock her car.

"Sharon." He made her spin around to face him. Cradling her hands in his, their locked eyes were left to do the talking for a long minute. After, before letting her go, he finally articulated a simple wish.

"Stay safe."

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**A/N:** _I was a bad writer and included this just because I had it written. It's not like there's an amazing plot to be ruined. *shrug*_


	3. Chapter 3: Extra Work

**Chapter 3: Extra Work**

Someone, a suspect, once told her that walking on the greyer side of the law was exhilarating in its utter terrification.

The times she came close to trying it, it was not what she had dreamed of.

The first time she did it, it seemed completely harmless, accidental even.

She was sent home after being injured on duty. Just a mild bump in a chase, but still, she was not deemed physically one hundred percent. Being at home wasn't all that unfortunate, seeing that Jack was nowhere to be found. The kids were happy that mommy both took them to pre-school in the morning and was waiting at the gates in the afternoon.

One day she got talking with another mom waiting for her kids. The mom was distraught, frantic, with her financial papers and preparing to do her tax returns. Sharon could not relate, she had been doing hers always, she even helped her father to do the family's taxes as a girl. Since she had nothing else to do, she offered to help her.

Money was never discussed. After it had been offered three times, Sharon thought about next day's packed lunch for the kids. Fifty bucks made it sound like a full bag for change.

The next time she did it, she knew she was doing wrong.

A friend complained about his firm having too much to do, not enough people to do it. She spent the evening trying to find a way to tell him she needed the money, without saying she needed the money. Dropping hints about being great with details, enjoying paperwork and having nothing to do after the kids got to bed didn't get her all that far.

Somehow steering the conversation to her wanting to go to law school had clicked. Telling him Jack was horrible with the details, how he actually had read a phonebook one night cramming for an exam and not noticing, had got the message through, although he first offered the work as an off-hand jest. She jumped on it and told him she was there to help.

Four nights later she had settled into a routine. After checking on the kids and finding them asleep, she skulked into her bedroom, knelt down, threw the edge of the flowery comforter up and reached for nondescript brown boxes filled with badly xeroxed paper. As the night ticked by, she sat at her kitchen table, covered it with piles and files, read everything carefully before making notes and marking the sheets.

When it was time to wake up the kids, she barely had made the acquaintance of her lonely bed. Feeding them, getting them ready left her a few precious minutes to shower and get ready for a morning shift. Her uniform laid in waiting, she drove the kids to pre-school and the papers to the office.

She often made it early to work. No one suspected anything, she could disguise the yawns well enough. The only mistake she made was falling asleep after shower one morning and having to arrange the pick-up at the PD. No one thought the boxes odd out loud, but it made herself jumpy. She had to quickly lose the job because someone called her 'Sergeant Paperwork' on a joke.

Even if her kids finally had the trendy sneakers they wished for (her daughter got the princess ones she had wanted, but Ricky she negotiated down from roller to flashing sneakers because she thought him too young to go skating away), she couldn't have kept it up much longer.

That Saturday at the playground she made Ricky cry when she couldn't pick him up after a fall; she simply had no energy left.

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**A/N:** _Huge thanks for all the reviews and adds! They keep this story on my mind thus getting me editing & posting._

_Klara: I'll try to post a chapter every day or two, depending on my schedule and if I have to edit/think about the next chapter. This gap was half sorting out chapters/timeline, half hardware problems. Goal is to have all posted before s3. Angst, with a capital A, coming__. (Though maybe not well-written.) ;)_


	4. Chapter 4: Greatest Show On Earth

**Chapter 4: Greatest Show On Earth**

Only in the daytime he noticed the refined brunettes. At night, in different surroundings, the bouncy blondes were so much easier, in more ways than one. When entering the small, modern style dinner they sometimes used for celebratory outings after closing hard cases, he cursorily checked the clientele like he had learned to do in the years after joining the force.

This time he realised he noted the refined brunette dressed in jeans and a white sweater because it was someone he knew. He took a couple fast strides next to her table.

"Hello Captain, fancy seeing you here."

She quickly flicked her hair behind her shoulders as she met his eyes with hers.

"Andy."

There was a small amount of surprise and something more on her face before she quickly schooled her features into a friendly neutrality. He wondered briefly if the unknown quantity was dismay for his use of her title.

"I thought this was your day off too."

She hummed in her throat and returned to the study of her drink.

He glanced at the table. There was a small, empty plate, three glasses, empty, and one glass half full of something looking a bit like hot chocolate with whipped cream. Sharon herself seemed quiet and kept turning the glass in circles between her forefingers.

"And here you are sitting with an air of defeat and stress."

When she stayed quiet, he invited himself to sit down next to her. She barely acknowledged him before answering, "Just because it's a day off it doesn't mean things are easier. In fact, I would rather work right now." She idly stirred her drink. Then she flashed him a genuine smile and rested her jaw on a palm. "So, you don't cook?"

He was taken aback. That was a non sequitur he couldn't follow. She shook her head, "I'm sorry, just stereotyping."

He laughed. "You think all men cook?"

She rolled her eyes but laughed regardless. "Yes, that was it exactly."

"I'm guessing it was more to do with racial profiling and assumptions to the availability of vegetarian options?" She nodded sheepishly. "But you were right. I do cook. Was out seeing a friend and on my way to do some shopping when I got hungry. Came in to get a sandwich on the go."

"Are there a lot of vegetarian options? I would imagine it's often one option and same thing from place to place."

He liked talking to her, but talking about vegetarian food seemed a little out there. Maybe she didn't have anything else to say. Or maybe she was trying hard to avoid something. He took an appraising look.

"Sharon, everything alright?"

She hesitated before answering, "Yes." He gave her the 'you're not being honest here, we both know it' he often gave to people they interviewed. She studied the hands in her lap. "No." She gave a few notes of dry chuckles and waved her hand, "Normal life."

When he didn't relent, she sighed and shook her head.

"I'm at my wit's end. I needed to get out of the house before I said something."

He grinned. Now this was getting somewhere.

"So what's the trouble in paradise?"

"Beats me. Say the word 'college' and the conversation ends with me trying hard not to break anything or him slamming a door." She gave him a self-aware lopsided grin.

"I'd pay to see that." He was an inch from laughing out loud. She pouted.

"For all you might think, it's not funny."

"I beg to differ." He chuckled and formed and imaginary banner in the air. "'See the indomitable Sharon Raydor triggered to mindless acts of violence by uttering the word 'college'.' I could get rich selling tickets."

"Not funny." Despite the words and the light slap on his arm her face was momentarily practically gleeful. "I don't know what the problem actually is. One minute he's happy to think graduating, going off to college, whatever. Then I'm the worst person ever to even insinuate that there is life after high school."

"He doesn't want to be carted off somewhere."

"I know that and I've told him a million times I'm happy to let him stay if he wants to go to school here. Or even if he wants to take a gap year and do the teenage things he has missed." She shook her head. "Sometimes I am reminded why I wanted to sell my kids to the highest bidder."

"You sure you could have gotten any money for them? Mustn't have been so horrible then."

"Some days I would have even paid for someone to take them," she amended. Rolling her eyes, "I don't know if it's the age talking but surely I was never as bad as any of mine."

"It's the age. I, personally, was horrible." He gave her another appraising once-over. "Though in your case I would guess you might be right."

"Don't bank on that. By nineteen I had disgraced my family often enough, and I'm not sure I got any better after that. It's a wonder they even talk to me."

"Sharon Raydor's wild youth? That's another show that could get me rich."

"Doesn't the LAPD pay you enough, Lieutenant? Seeing that you find yourself having to make your fortune using my misfortune?"

"You've been a Captain too long if you think I couldn't use the extra cash."

She dropped her head and smiled. "Oh, I've been a Captain entirely too long. Maybe I should join the circus, seeing I am so successful a performer."

"Your act only works when it's a double-act with Rusty."

"What a shame." Her smile died, "Seriously though, I don't think I am cut out for this thing anymore."

"It's the situation. The pressure is amplified like nothing."

"I feel bad for him. He doesn't deserve me being difficult on top of everything. I should be better for him."

"Sharon, you are not difficult. You are allowed to get stressed, lose your temper. If you didn't, you'd only teach him unrealistic expectations for life," he squeezed her arm as his eyes glinted with mirth.

"So are you saying that I have to be difficult to help him grasp the necessary fact that women are impossible?"

He looked her in mock seriousness. "There is no way I can get out of this, is there?"

She surprised him by giggling. "Sorry, you dug the hole, Andy."

"At least I got a giggle out of you, I think my job here is done."

He stood up in order to go and get the sandwich he came in for. She followed him with her eyes and with a warm smile admitted, "And what a fine job it was."

-x-

As some cosmic law dictated, after a peaceful day off there was bound to be a day when everything just kept coming at you. It had been a strange day. At five p.m. Sharon had noticed she hadn't been in her office for more than twenty minutes the whole day. She couldn't even remember the last time she had been on the go that much. A fact she was glad of since it had made her exhausted, her brain feeling like it was filled with molasses.

Getting home straight from checking a suspect's house, she barely had time to drop her key and purse, remove her jacket and shoes when Rusty appeared.

"I want to join the Army."

"You want to join the Army," she repeated her face blank. She tried to grasp for any sort of sense this conversation was going to require. It didn't seem to come so she resorted to the first firm answer she encountered. "You will not."

"Why not, it's a good career."

She momentarily dropped her forehead into her fingers in order to gather some energy for what might follow. Lord have mercy.

"It's dangerous and tough and I don't want you to do it." Bad reasoning, but that was all she had tonight.

Rusty was not having it. He crossed his arms and raised his eyebrows.

"Says the woman living under protection detail, wearing her gun."

He nodded in the direction of her waist. Sharon sighed and took the damn thing off.

"That's wholly beside the point."

"They pay for college and things." He followed her to the kitchen, adding, "And you'll always have a job if you want it."

Suddenly both this and the conversations they had had previously started to make more sense. Could it be this simple? Had she been this vague?

She stopped and turned around, "Honey is that what this is about? Paying for college?"

"Degrees are like, expensive, Sharon," he practically whined in exasperation.

She smirked.

"I know, I've paid for several. And I can pay for yours too." She stopped to take a drink. "I want to pay for it." When she sensed his hesitation, she softly supplied, "Please."

"Sharon you've spent a lot of money on me already, I don't want you to... You know."

"Rusty, I'm not running out of money. I want to do this. So forget this thing about the Army," she tried to convince him with an assuring smile.

He smirked.

"What if I want to go to the Academy instead? Will you forbid it too?"

"Honey, I'm not going to forbid anything. If you really want to join the Army, I will support you. I will hate it, beg you not to do it, but I will support you." She wanted to add 'and cry every night until you resign', but it felt a little too dramatic, besides their relationship wasn't all that comfortable with even the word 'crying' itself.

"So, you are all for Academy?"

"'All for' might be a little strong but let's say I'm not 'dead against'," she admitted with a shrug and a lopsided grin. "You are smart. You don't have to join for the money. You can do a lot of things. Do what you really want, don't do things because others do them."

Her heartfelt statement warranted an eye roll from him.

"Yeah yeah. Don't jump off the bridge, don't do drugs and stay in school. Heard it."

She laughed for a moment before sobering.

"I know you have, but those are the important things when you chase your dreams. You can achieve your dreams, Rusty. Make them a reality."

He met her eyes for a few seconds, nodded and went to his room to leave her in peace.

-x-

He had called her after eleven in the night. The case was one of those that seemed never to end, but finally they had, quite accidentally, caught a suspect they had been hunting since the start of the investigation. Anything related to gangs was horrible and convoluted beyond hope, especially when the gang in question had infrastructure and means to make people disappear.

She had answered, her voice dull and quiet to his ears. He thought something had happened, but since it was a work call, he wouldn't pry at all. Though he suspected she wouldn't appreciate prying in any context. Sometimes it felt like she turned personal conversations into light-hearted banter or blocked everything he tried to say with a wall of introspection.

No, he should just push on with the official business.

"I called to inform you that we have Alvarez in custody. He requested a lawyer faster than he could take a breath, he has to wait until morning."

"Thank you. Please see that everything is in order for the morning and go home."

"Already done, already at home."

"Oh, that's good Lieutenant."

"Sure thing, Captain."

He waited for her to close the connection, she knew it, but somehow she didn't want to disconnect and just hung on the line. After a pause that could have been filled with reciting the conversation thus far, she cleared her throat.

"Andy? Can you talk to me for a while?"

"Sure. What about?"

"I don't care. Not work."

He took a deep breath while trying to come up with something. Something safe, something of no real consequence, no relation to either the job at hand or whatever might be ailing her.

He decided on telling her about a book on pasta he came across while running errands some errands (which he didn't clarify upon) after the conversation they had about vegetarian food. He had leafed through it at home finding a recipe he wanted to try out but getting the ingredients had turned out to be a little adventure in itself.

"Swear to God it turned out to be a flippin' circus," he summarized the calamity that had risen in a small Italian grocery.

Until then she had listened his ramblings with only an occasional amused hum, but that spurred her to speak.

"Oh, that reminds me. I said the word 'college' yesterday."

"No explosions?"

"No. Actually, the problem, or one of them, seemed to be money."

"You've done a lot for him, Sharon."

"I know," she let out on a breath. "But it still isn't enough. I can do more. I must do more."

"Don't overextend yourself."

"Offering money isn't overextending. The question is, can I make him accept. It is not going to be easy."

"Money's always difficult." He didn't want to leave her brooding, at least not as much as she had been, so he perked up his tone and started with, "Speaking of which, Provenza has this friend —"

"No."

"You haven't even heard what I was going to say!"

"The answer's still no. I'm signing on no outside employment for you two."

"We're that essential?"

"You wish, Lieutenant!"

"You are starving me, Captain! No OE, no selling tickets. A man needs more than goodwill to survive."

"Good night, Andy."

When their chuckles died, there was another, though much shorter, silence.

"Sharon, you alright now?"

"Yeah. Thank you for making me laugh."

"Anytime."

* * *

**A/N:** _I decided to get all this Rusty stuff out of the way so I don't have to deal with it later. I don't know why I insist on writing Rusty when I clearly don't know how and can't be bothered to learn or do relevant research (I'm no fanfiction writer after all and don't know squat about US school system). I'm sorry._


	5. Chapter 5: Friendships

**Chapter 5: Friendships**

Friendships were funny things.

Her first true friend was called Nancy. They met when she was two years old and ever since that there was rarely a day they didn't see each other. They had the same hobbies, the same hair styles, the same temperaments. They sat next to each other all through elementary school, at high school they had crushes on all the same boys and liked all the same bands. Both of them liked the same people and they never fought over time or friends, even in junior high when the two of them became a group of six giggling girls.

Back then she never had trouble with friendships.

When she met Jackson, he quickly became her best friend. Day after day she saw her old friends less and less, when they moved on to college and families, it was easy for meetings to slip into next week and then the next. Jack liked parading her in front of his friends, who were very funny and exciting. She tried to hang on for the ride the best she could. It took time from her own friends, but they understood young love and vowed to wait for her. Young love turned to status quo love and friends moved on. Soon he had become her only friend, but she didn't care, he was enough.

After getting married, she never troubled with friendships.

During their early marriage he was enough for her and she was enough for him. They lived the classical 'us against the world' cliché, never thinking it could end. They had a plan to go through law school one by one, she jumped at the chance to make their dreams a reality, with barely any prompting from him joining the police. An old instructor at the academy made a point of telling the rookies to build good relationships with fellow officers, that they were the things that drew a line between staying safe or alive and getting injured or dead. Being the good student she was, she found she revelled in the assignment. She went to all the celebrations, talked to anyone she could, made an appearance at every social engagement. When she realised Jackson had his friends and never invited her anymore, there wasn't a single colleague who wasn't a prospect.

Being new in the force, she never missed having the friendships she could.

Everything went famously until she got back from maternity leave and back to shuffling papers in FID. She didn't have the time to go around partying, and she rarely, fortunately, met a friend in the course of her duties. The months she had been away had made her forgettable. Even if she had had time for drinks after work, no one ever remembered to extend her an invitation. She had thought it was just having kids and staying away, maybe the rumours circling about her marriage, that made them wary. She never thought it could be just her work, but when her former squad mates openly made jokes about her and Sam, her old partner, the best ally in the force she thought she had, took her aside to tell her there now was a line between them they never could cross, the only thing she could tell herself was not to cry, never mind how heartbroken she felt. The magnitude of the sudden loneliness and trampled trust washing over nearly knocked her down, exhausting everything she had in order not to crumble. Her hands didn't get the memo though, making her only option to hide them deep in her pockets for comfort.

After she transferred, she could never miss the friendships she had.

Joining Major Crimes had thrown her into a foreign territory. The people had openly hated, disliked and mistrusted her. She knew most of it was only due to the position she had held, hoping it would quickly be forgotten. It wasn't, and it looked like it wouldn't be. She was hesitant to call any of them her friend, but there was no other moniker to suit them better. They were more than acquaintances, more than colleagues, but never as easy as friends. For a brief moment she had thought Andy was a friend until she had gone and made that thing difficult too. When he extended her an invitation, she could never tell if it was for the boss, the friend or the date. Harder still was telling for which one she wanted it to be.

Now she had troubled friendships.

* * *

**A/N: **_You know you're one of *those* fans when you have a headcanon for every random gesture. Sigh. __Next chapter uses "That Damn Wedding", but if you aren't interested in reading it, no problem. Just know some wordings/parallels might sound weird(er).  
_


	6. Chapter 6: The Game

**Chapter 6: The Game**

This 'being his friend Sharon' business was getting easier and easier, she had thought. He had asked her to help out by coming to see his grandkids dance, not a lot of trouble or room for complications. There was no question how to approach the situation, it felt just comfortable. That was until that talk.

The only thing she could commend him for was coming clean with it. Everything else, she couldn't even get her head around it all. He had made her angry, hurt, disappointed, and, as loath as she was to admit it, somewhat giddy. That foolish, adolescent part of her read all kind of things into him wanting to call her his girlfriend (though the word was forever sullied in her head after she heard it coming from his ex-wife's mouth).

When he had told her about his deception, she kept wishing he would stop explaining. The more he apologized, explicated on the circumstances and reasons, the worse she felt. For a moment she was tempted to jump up and tell him to shut up and ask her out if that's what he needed. At that word she had blushed and he started to apologize twice as hard.

Stopping his tirade, she told him she had absolutely no interest in being his fake girlfriend. Thinking back, the emphasis she had put on 'fake' might have been better used on 'no' or 'absolutely'. Sometimes, especially in her more foolish moments, she was glad he noticed everything but had trouble connecting and interpreting. It was endearing, really.

The small voice in her subconsciousness supplied an exasperated 'oh, I give up!' and as if it had been a person, she could feel the mandatory Olympic level eye roll accompanied with upthrown hands. It was slightly disconcerting to realise she was arguing with Provenza even in her head.

However, she felt it an immense improvement over the voice that had plagued her during and after his daughter's wedding. No annoying innuendos about wanting dates and kisses. Her confidence had soared at the latest the moment Andy had placed his hand on the small of her back to usher to their places: no girly fantasies sprung forth, no thoughts unsuitable for pure friendships clouded her mind. She was ready to claim victory over her temporary insanity.

That was until he had taken her home.

Her intention had been to address the situation they had explicitly agreed upon: their friendship. To thank him for the invitation, accept his apology again and to reiterate what she expected him to do (talk to and be honest with his family). To tell him she still wanted to be his friend, that she would always be willing to listen if he needed one.

Sterner points she wanted to make, she left for the future, should some better occasion arise.

Somehow, what came out of her mouth in the corridor of her building wasn't exactly that. He had apologized again, she had accepted, he had thanked her for coming anyway and she had told him it was no problem. Then she had looked deep into his eyes and completely forgot to admonish him in the manner she planned or reaffirm the good friendship they had started to build.

What came out, after a pause, was a question instead.

"You do realize we are playing a very dangerous game here?" She turned her gaze away, with too much trouble, she noted, and shook her head before continuing, "What with —," afraid to pull out specific words, her hand made a flapping motion between them, "— this."

"Sharon, we are friends."

Yes, friends, Sharon, friends.

She was about to verify that out loud (without the sarcasm her inner voice used), but he didn't seem to need it.

"There's no rule against being friends with fellow officers," he stated a little bit hesitantly. At her closed look he questioned, "Is there?"

"No, there isn't." Her gaze flicked to his eyes and then to the wall behind him. "But there is a guideline that both encourages in-office comradery and discourages off-hours relationships."

They stood still for a moment, neither really sure where this was going. She thought it might have been a bit rude to say that, especially after the firm language she had used telling him what she thought about being blindsided and taken as a mug. She wanted the relationship they had. She refused to having thought the 'and more' part that had come to surface unbidden.

He ended his own line of thought by saying, "It's not like we go searching for the first wall to have sex against." Her reaction reminded him of the sputtering up a drink, part in surprise, part in dismay, he thought. He hastily backpedalled, "Sorry, bad joke."

He probably hadn't meant to say it, she mused. Though as soon as he had, her mind flashed full of images she had gathered some years ago in a certain watercooler conversation. Later she had heard the details of that particular story in IA. Not good, not good at all.

"No, that would definitely be worse," she said secretly thinking it could have been fun in another life. Unfortunately in this she had another topic at hand to deliver, "But the guideline has a pesky little word in it. 'Appearance'."

He only groaned.

"I know we are friends and I know I can give orders fairly —," she tried to assure herself at least as much as him, "— but it's just a matter of time before someone feels you get a better task and automatically thinks it's because of — this." She took a deep breath and sounded wistful adding, "Then it's all downhill."

Andy had left her to her (quite possibly) depressing thoughts for a moment. He had noticed her demeanour change every time she was thinking things relating to her personal life. She always turned her eyes away from anyone, dropped her head slightly, brought her hands closer to her body and was very very still.

As per was his custom, he tried to make light of it in the hopes that she was either going to open up or lighten up.

"Hey, the last time anyone's personal conduct in our department was called into question, it was because of me."

It earned him the classic Captain Raydor 'are you serious? Please tell me you're not' look. He suppressed a chuckle.

"Are you saying you have strong experience in the field? Doesn't really make me feel better."

"I'm saying I was the one calling it into question. You remember, the articles about Chief Johnson's former misconduct? I made the call, no one else wanted anything to do with it."

"I so didn't need to know that," she said after a pause with a voice that embodied the essence of an eyeroll.

"What are you going to do about it now? Nothing. But it shows you the others have a sane head on their shoulders." He leaned closer to her and placed his hand on her elbow. "So it's a good thing you keep walking the grey areas with me and not them."

She gave him a half amused hum.

"You know, in all my years in FI, the one thing that I really, truly, honestly, despised was off-duty conduct reviews." He laughed at that. "No, really. Give me sixteen OIS investigations the same day if I could be spared of one personal conduct incident."

"What, you couldn't have handled the seventeenth?"

"Too much paperwork for me to lift," she deadpanned before getting pensive again. "You know the thing that really made them hard?" It was a rhetorical question. "There are no rules. You can't go and look up some script of how things should go and make comparisons. There's rarely a time you can say 'well, that was wrong', it doesn't get to that point most of the time. You just have to wade through someone else's personal life, poke your nose into things you don't want to, things you shouldn't, things that are none of your business. It's a horrible, sanctimonious task. Especially when you yourself are no model officer. When your own..."

She swallowed the rest of that sentence and shook her head in something that reminded him of disappointment. So much for his good efforts at getting her up from whatever depths she seemed to be wading in. Maybe it was his time to lend a patient ear.

"Shouldn't you invite me in?"

The question floored her, totally. It made her knock her back against the wall of the corridor, her eyes probably as wide as ever, his warm and inviting.

It wasn't all in her head? This was worse than she had thought.

"I don't —. I can't."

She made a dash for her door without a glance back.

"Well at least say goodnight!" he shouted after, making her pause for a second.

A whispered 'I'm sorry' had to suffice.

She had done it again.

* * *

**A/N:** _Yes, this was the Nutcracker bit! I was a sly fox (read: lazy git) and completely went and ignored it. If you got six choices, always opt for the seventh.  
_


	7. Chapter 7: Innocence

**Chapter 7: Innocence**

Long ago, when she joined the department, she had made an oath to protect the innocent from deception. Today, in her personal life, she had trouble discerning who the innocent were or what she could possibly do not to deceive any of them.

Earlier in her life she had always pledged to hold her interactions with her children above any sort of deceit. It hadn't worked for long, given the unsatisfactory circumstances her life had thrown at them.

Her work and the complications that provided was always as much off-limits to them as was possible. Accidents, bad situations, call-outs were covered to the best of her ability. When nothing was at hand, she told the truth. 'It's work' and 'mommy hurt her arm' were sentences she never expanded on, and it felt they rarely wanted anything more.

Jack for his part was determined to test her skills. She hated lying for him. Almost as much she hated covering for him. She never did either if she could avoid it. For the first five years of their marriage she never had to. Then, for a few years it was only the small white lies she thought every relationship needed.

It wasn't until the kids were both in school that it got tricky. Luckily she had a job where she had heard all the excuses. Building a database for future use took little effort.

There was one night when she had used way too many entries on her database. Jack had promised and vowed and sworn that he would come and see the school's talent night. Both of the kids had acts they wanted their dad to see. She had gone early to help out and the agreement was for him to come half an hour before the event started. In truth she expected him to come fifteen minutes before, but had long since given up on him being punctual.

He hadn't shown his face thirty minutes before, nor fifteen. When the first act was called, Ricky gave into disappointment. Her daughter had maintained that daddy would come, just because he had promised, and she would not get on stage before he had arrived. Both of them asked if he had called and she told them the truth.

She didn't like calling after him. That night her daughter was quickly working herself into a fit since her daddy wasn't there and she had ran out of options.

He answered on the first ring like her call was a pleasant surprise. She was in no mood, only reminding him he had promised, several times, and what the time was. When his answer started with an empty endearment, she told him to prepare for a crying kid who wasn't going to talk to him for the next week, at least (in reality, she hadn't said a word to him for twelve days). He had only one message.

"Tell them I have something important to do."

He didn't even bother to add the 'more'.

* * *

**A/N: **_Didn't mean to bring up another 'kids' chapter so soon but at current this was the only place this would fit. And it's only 500 words. ;)  
To those wondering about the Nutcracker scenarios: I *might* be writing out those as a set of their own if and when I have the time/need for warm-ups._


	8. Chapter 8: Pink

**Chapter 8: Pink**

After the Nutcracker she had stormed straight to her bedroom in spite of an inquisitive Rusty popping out from the kitchen. His security detail had rarely expressed more than the raised eyebrows and nearly startled look with which they had graced her entrance. Luckily they were professionals and made themselves step outside without any comment, leaving their charges alone.

"Sharon, everything okay?"

"Yes, yes. Just a nosebleed," she hurried on with an excuse, barely having the sense to raise her hand to her face like she actually was doing something to block a nosebleed.

"Uh, sounds awful. Something happen?"

"No, spontaneous. I'll be out in a minute."

She clicked the door to her bedroom shut, quite possibly on his face. She sat on her bed wondering when her peaceful life had gone. Eighteen months ago she had slouched home exhausted, poured a glass of wine, put on some music lying on the couch and went to bed whenever. No kids to take care of, certainly no Lieutenants walking her up and asking to come in.

Except for that one time when Lieutenant McDonald had an actual nosebleed. She chortled at the memory.

Rusty rapped his knuckles on the closed door.

"You sure you're fine?"

"Positive."

Sharon took her dress off, faked a trip to the bathroom to gather a cold compress and wash her face before putting on some comfy clothes. She threw the contents of her purse on the bed and grabbed for her phone. No new messages, very surprising, only missed calls. Very relieving. For a moment she constructed alternative messages in her head, finally deciding on 'Sorry, I was tired. Let's talk later. Friends?'. Short, to the point and a complete lie. That usually worked.

Now for act two, she thought when leaving the comforts of her own room.

"You clean up pretty well," he assessed his mouth full of sandwich in a mirror of earlier in the evening.

She squinted at him. "Yes."

"But you are a horrible liar."

Sighing deeply, she sat down on the couch. "I know Rusty, I know."

He walked around the couch to join her.

"Was it okay? Did Flynn do something?"

"It was a good performance. The kids' got some talent," she replied succinctly. Noticing his eyebrows rising in worry, she leaned forward to pat his arm and reassured him, "Oh honey, he didn't do anything." Catching herself of a lie (was his lame scheming foiled really today?), she needed to cover. "We had a conversation out there," she waved dismissively in the direction of the front door, "and I didn't want to have it. My fault, I started it, but it went badly."

"Was it... Like, was it about... you know?"

"I don't know, but probably not." She tried very hard not to be too amused at him, so she resorted to a pout that covered absolutely nothing. "History, and misunderstandings. Nothing for you to be concerned about."

"You're not looking too convincing."

She closed her eyes for a moment. "It's fine."

She couldn't help but think of all the ways the conversation could have gone down had she been honest, open or at least not entirely silly. Maybe if she had heard him out, the thing had turned out to be totally innocent.

Then again, what if it hadn't?

You're not thirty nor blonde, Sharon. And he's not old enough to give that up.

Very reassuring.

Rusty had studied her during her musing. He was sure there was more to the story than simple conversations. She wasn't the type to mull over bad confrontations, was she? Maybe this was normal after-outing behaviour, after all the last time she had been out she had been in a weird mood.

After his own musings he came to two conclusions. First, this must be a Catholic thing. It was something he had learned in school: odd reactions to social situations was par for the course when dealing with Catholics. Second, she sounded unquestionably odd. To err on the side of caution, in case it wasn't a purely Catholic thing (which deep down he sort of knew it wouldn't be, it was more likely a Sharon thing), he tried again.

"That came out a bit apprehensive. You sure everything's okay?"

She responded with only opening her eyes, however, she looked away the moment their eyes met.

"Like you would tell me if something happened?"

This time her reply was a simple barely perceptible nod.

It reassured him to an extent to let forth a small, slightly teasing, smile. "You know everything you talk to me about doesn't have to be about me."

It granted him no reaction.

"Sharon?"

Suddenly she jumped up, heading to her room without a pause.

"Leave it, Rusty!" she shot over her shoulder before practically slamming the door shut behind herself.

He just sat there, utterly stunned. Right. Totally normal reaction.

"Well good night to you too. And I thought I was the teenager," he mumbled under his breath while heading to his own room.

-x-

She had asked him for a dinner, just the two of them, to talk and to apologize, no pretexts or happenstances. The less than charitable part of her mind, which lately was intent on making her rational parts disappear, categorized the dinner immediately as a date. She shut it up by diverting her attention to checking up on Rusty.

"Are you alright if I need to pop out for a couple of hours?"

He didn't even raise his attention from the laptop screen.

"Sharon, that's the third time you've asked."

"And I am asking a fourth time, if need be."

He gave an exasperated sigh and turned around. She slightly wondered about the odd look he gave her before answering.

"I'm fine. I'm playing online chess. I have a homework pile lasting well unto the new year. The TV is working. There is food in the kitchen, I can handle a knife, turn on the stove, not burn the place down, use the telephone and there are like half of the LAPD in the two block radius from here. I think I can just about to manage."

She crossed her arms in a bemused manner. "No need to be a sarky teen about it."

He mirrored her gestures. "Yeah? Well no need to be an overprotective mother of a toddler about it."

She let her hands fall down and rolled her eyes with a smile. "Fine."

"Good." He smirked. "So, where are you going?"

"Uh, just out. A dinner."

Rusty, like every teenager smelled any opportunity to torment an adult from miles away and Sharon was so, too, easy. His smile turned positively devious.

"There's food in the house."

"Yes."

"So it's not so much a dinner than it's the company. Who's the guy?"

"Rusty! There's no 'guy'."

"Yeah? Tell that to your dress." He was sure she was beginning to blush. At least her eyes darted about like they did when she was fighting very hard not to become all awkward.

"I don't think we are having this discussion."

"Sure. Make the poor foster kid stay home alone while you go running about with strange guys around the LA night life."

Just as he had said it, he knew he had gone too far. Her face was a painting of regret and hesitation.

"I can not go," she said quietly.

"No, you go, Sharon. I'm sorry. That was going a bit too far." When she still hesitated at the entrance, he wanted to get up and push her out of the door himself. "Seriously. Go. I really don't mind. In fact, while you are gone, I can eat in front of the TV, use the coffee table for a footrest and not be anal about crumbs. Good for my sanity."

"If you are sure."

"Yes. Go on to your date."

"It's not a date. Just seeing a friend."

"Well whatever. And the dress is fine."

"It's not a date. You can call me any time, for any reason."

"Sharon!"

"I know, I know. You are not seven."

"No, I'm not. Go on, have fun."

"I would say the same thing but I fear what my poor furniture would look like upon returning."

"Like someone actually normal lived here."

-x-

Arriving at the restaurant she immediately found Andy sitting at a table with drinks at ready. Great, he had time to order already. She hated being late, especially when it was her inviting people somewhere. Well, it couldn't be helped now, so she hastily crossed the floor taking off her coat.

When her approach drew his eye, he made to stand up and help her with her coat, but before he even got properly on his feet she was already pulling her chair to sit down. So much for chivalry or even simple manners.

"I'm sorry I'm late, there was a discussion with Rusty and the traffic was terrible."

"No problem. And you're what, whole of five minutes late?"

"Five too many. I don't like disrespecting people." She had opened the menu, but seeing this was the perfect in for what this whole dinner was supposed to be about, decided to continue, "While we are on the subject..."

She flipped the menu closed again and started on with the little speech she had prepared. Apologizing for every single thing she did wrong during the evening of the Nutcracker, trying to give some sort of an explanation (without offering too many details) and assurances that she would never, ever do anything like it again. Every time she got to that part in her earlier run-throughs, she encountered the provenza-esque voice saying 'yeah right' and the other one chiming in with a 'you wish'. As bad as they were alone, this was tenfold worse.

She ended with saying, "And I am sorry I haven't apologized sooner."

For the last minute he had listened with a blank expression. At some point he was tempted to check whether his facial muscles had paralyzed.

"Wow. You sure that was all?"

"Well..." She started to run through the evening for anything she might have missed.

"I bet you next year's paperwork you can't think of anything else."

Her lips curled into a mischievous smile. "Now that only makes me want to make something up."

"Sharon, you don't have to. I think half of what you already said was plain ridiculous. 'I'm sorry for asking your daughter where she went to school'. Seriously?"

The question had launched a heated conversation which ended only when certain ex-couple had been steered to opposite ends of the entrance hall. Sharon thought it only fair to apologize for instigating that situation, unknowingly as it might have been.

Was it wrong to apologize?

She was still looking for an answer when recrossing her legs her toes collided with his leg under the table.

"I'm so—"

"No."

"Excuse me?"

"You don't keep apologizing. I've counted, you've apologized more times than I have and what I did was worse."

She gave him a slick smile. "Well, good thing then that I wasn't apologizing for the... incident." She crossed her hands on the table. "I was apologizing for kicking you in the shin right now."

"Didn't even notice. Both apologies accepted."

"But I'd like to offer an explanation for the rest of the evening."

"Only if you keep it short. I'm getting hungry here," he said grinning.

"I don't think you are taking me seriously here, but I'll try."

"Not in the least. Make it like six words short."

She gave him a humourless grin. "You know I wasn't ready —"

"And you know I only meant to talk."

She nodded. "I wasn't ready."

Again she grew quiet like she so often did when talking about herself. It was his cue to become serious too.

"Would you talk to me if you were?"

She hemmed. "That sounds like a question that answers itself."

"Oh. I didn't realize."

"Nevermind."

"So. Still friends?"

"Friends, all irrational behaviour not withstanding."

"Deal."

They finally silently agreed to move on, to the extreme pleasure of their waiter who seemed to be a little exasperated with their long conversation. They hastily made their orders and moved on to more pleasant subjects.

Sharon took a sip of her water.

"I guess it amuses you to know I took your advice."

"On?"

"On being difficult for Rusty. I'm well on my way to turning back to a baby. Unfortunately these teenage moments are a bitch."

He laughed a full belly laugh. "What did you do?"

Suddenly it became evident that she had walked straight in it. No way out now, only hoping he wouldn't wonder and if he did, keeping track of the lies.

"When I got home I was a bit... Well, you know. Let's say the mood didn't evaporate," she summarized with a pointed look. "He tried to be very sweet, asking if everything was fine and I, the excellent role model that I am, bit his head off, ran away and slammed the door behind me for good measure." She smiled at him sweetly from under her lashes before adding, "If I'm not too hungry, it's because of all the humble pie I have been helping myself to."

Her confession sent him into another fits of laughter. "I told your double-act would be a hit," he managed to get out.

"Thank you for not laughing at me."

"Sorry, it's just hard to picture."

He offered her a wide, joyful smile. She answered in kind.

"Well, I've done it to you twice now, so maybe you can draw on your vast experience instead of wasting time on imagings."

"You know, not a year ago I would have tried my best to commit anyone suggesting running away slamming doors would be your thing."

"A year ago I still had some manners, it seems," she said in affected thoughtfulness.

"Yeah, and that's why everyone thought you a regular miss congeniality."

"Do unto others, Lieutenant, do unto others."

Her mock glare was intercepted by the waiter bringing their food, most of which they ate in comfortable near silence.

"How's your daughter?"

He shrugged. "Fine. Disappointed with me." At her frown he simply replied, "Pick a reason. She doesn't appreciate liars either."

"Andy, I'm sorry. Maybe I shouldn't have come, or maybe I shouldn't have insisted on that conversation."

"No, it's not anything to do with you. The situation is what it's been since whenever, since before I even met you." He paused for a moment, looking into distance. "Or — no, never mind."

Her interest was certainly piqued. "Or?"

"I was going to say that maybe not that long but then I started thinking how old my daughter is, and doing Maths with big numbers makes my head hurt."

She dropped her head in laughter. "Yeah, we're indeed that old."

"So how's yours?"

"You know dancers. When they aren't running through steps, they are thinking steps, eating or asleep. That or thinking about eating." She studied her plate. The salad almost all intact, the béarnaise sauce pretty much polished all off. "And that's why I'd have never made it as a dancer." He wanted to ask if that would have been something she had wanted, whether she had danced at all, but somehow he thought she might have. "I don't know who to thank, but if there wasn't text messages, I'd think I dreamed having kids."

"Trosby. Can't remember the guy's first name though."

Her eyebrows shot up. "I'm not going to even wonder how you'd know that, but thanks to him then for my kids not abandoning me." She was making a toast when her phone buzzed. She pointed one finger at the device and silently asked for his permission. He gestured to go ahead. "Speaking of which," she scoffed. "Listen to this. 'Hi Mom, are my pink ankle boots at yours?' topped with an L and a U. That's what our relationship is in a nutshell." She tapped the screen a couple of times in thought. "Am I a bad mother for telling her no because I want to wear them next week?"

"Hard to picture you in pink."

"Oh, I wear it often enough," she replied nonchalantly while tapping an answer to the text. Hearing herself, she blushed as she put the phone down. Hope to God he didn't notice the less than innocent slip. "Sorry, that was bad manners."

"Not at all. Kids come first."


	9. Chapter 9: Logrolling

**Chapter 9: Logrolling**

Once when she was a young officer trying to gain the ranks, she had been invited to a dinner with the Chief. When the grapevine learned of the fact (most likely because someone saw the invitation), she immediately started getting telling looks and rooms went quiet when she entered them. In the space of a couple days she had been warned several times. She had laughed every one of them off, but the time she wasn't warned made her a little anxious.

"So you are the new star?" Sally, a fellow young officer had asked after parking herself on the corner of her desk.

"Star?"

"You know it always starts the same. A dinner invitation, a proposition and two weeks later a promotion."

"Oh, that's just a rumour!" Sharon refuted.

"It's not. You know it's not, you're just trying to deny you would do it yourself! Not that I disapprove, I will do it the moment I get the chance. Good for you."

After that conversation she felt sick. Getting dolled up in her appartment had made her visibly nervous. There was no way this would go well, there was no way to say no. But there was no way she could say anything but no. She knew accepting the invitation had been plain stupid, but it was too late now.

"Mommy, are you going to see daddy?" Ricky had wandered into her room while she was putting the finishing touches on her make-up.

"No, sweetie, mommy's seeing a friend. I'll be home early."

"But that's the dress daddy likes," Ricky pointed out, not seeing how his mother could not be seeing his dad.

It turned out, she had assumed correctly and it was a dress the Chief liked as well. He had complimented her when she arrived and she was sure his eyes strayed from his menu a couple times too many. She started to form a strategy and after they had ordered, she started to put it into action.

First she told him what Ricky had wondered when she left. He chuckled amicably. Then she told in what situation Jack had brought up him liking the dress. He agreed it was a nice dress for her. At every turn he said something even remotely about her, she countered with 'my husband this' or 'my kids that'.

During the main course he had gotten apprehensive. She felt a little more at ease.

"Your husband approved your coming here today?"

"Of course," she assumed not seeing her for three weeks was a silent approval to an issue she never told him.

"He's not the jealous type?"

"No, he knows I've always been of the opinion that a woman should never be with a man for little money."

"How about a lot?"

"Well, that's a different game," she said smiling a little too flirtatiously.

He had laughed sincerely and proceeded to tell her about the upcoming changes and a position he was looking to fill. She gave him a few opinions about how to best go about those changes and who would be great in the seat in question. He seemed a little taken that here was a woman who actually had opinions and wasn't afraid to share them.

She never got the job, but she got something better: the admiration of a Chief.

-x-

When she had transferred to IA, her kids were small. She had to keep some sort of a regular schedule but the on-call nights were still difficult. More difficult still was when her daughter started having more dance practices, competitions and recitals.

Luckily she got a chance to make things work.

Scott Wilkins seemed to like her. They often partnered up and made good work. The first time she had to leave him alone with their paperwork she was very apologetic and very, very hesitant. Scott was fine with it and next time she sent him home and stayed behind.  
She might have flirted with him a little. Mostly harmlessly, almost always without prior thought.

He started to see when she got impatient to leave. He always told her to go home early and she could make it up to him later. She always thanked him profusely. Then she was put on call the day her daughter had a competition. Scott told her not to worry about it, he could take the rotation. When she offered to take his, he refused.

Suddenly that Summer they found themselves in a pattern. Him always covering for her, her always thanking him, him every time refusing her offers of swapping things head-to-head, her doing a share of his paperwork in secret. If she tried to somehow repay him, it turned to an exercise in flirting.

She quietly tried to do nice things for him, to help him out in any way she could. When Christmas came around, there was an opportunity to be seized. She always bought her whole team Christmas presents and that year she wrapped them all in similar size red boxes. After skimping for the whole Autumn she bought him a present he always talked about: VIP tickets to Lakers games. She didn't give the others presents like that.

* * *

**A/N: **_Well, the mess was solved by simply splitting the section in three. Let's hope it's not going to get me in trouble later on...  
_


	10. Chapter 10: Regency Romance

**Chapter 10: Regency Romance**

One night, not long after the letters were not an issue anymore, Sharon was in the kitchen making dinner. She had barely come home early enough, thus she had only removed her jacket and put on an apron before immersing herself in cooking. It was going to be pasta; simple enough, quick enough and easy enough to make enough for Rusty to not get hungry before morning.

She was sautéing the onions when Rusty came to sit at the dining room table. He had just finished his homework and needed a breather.

He watched her twirling around the kitchen, her movements precise and quick, all of her attention on cooking.

"So your boyfriend coming over?"

"Excuse me? Rusty?" Her eyes rose from the pan momentarily.

"Oh come on, Sharon."

"Come on what?"

"Everyone knows you are together."

At that she turned around, put the pan on the counter and placed her hands on her hips.

"Rusty, I have no earthly idea what you are talking about."

He sighed like she was being purposefully obtuse and he was just humouring her.

"You and Flynn. You are going out."

"We are not."

"Fine," he stated flipping open a magazine.

"Rusty, I am telling you, we are not."

The emphatic way she protested made him take a renewed interest on the conversation.

"The Wedding? The Nutcracker? And I'm pretty sure you were out with him last week. Wednesday."

Last Wednesday he had received a desperate call from his daughter about ballet clothes she needed for her stepsons and had asked her to run the errand with him. He had offered her dinner as a thank you for her help and then (when she had first told him it wasn't needed) he had reminded that she better accept, otherwise he would feel bad for not properly thanking for the Christmas present she had gotten him. She had told him it still wasn't needed, but agreed nevertheless. It was no big deal. She could admit to that.

"Oh. Well we were. But he is not my boyfriend."

Rusty smirked and crossed his arms. "Then what are you calling him?"

"A friend. He's a friend."

"Right." He gave the word at least three syllables. "A friend you wear your sexy dresses for."

"I do not!" She looked down at her dress. It was new, to the knee and off the shoulders. She had worn it to work today, under a wrap jacket and thought nothing of it. It wasn't a date dress, was it?

Anyhow, it didn't matter. She reminded him, "You yourself have said I don't have a social life. Plenty of times, if I recall."

"Yeah?"

"So if I've been out three times in the last six months, why wouldn't I wear something nice I can't wear to work?"

She omitted the happenstance outings, and the one not-so-happenstance, no need to be too honest. However he might have known there was something she didn't tell him, at least judging by his questioning look.

"So he's not your boyfriend? Or whatever-old-people-call-their-boyfriends?"

"No." She refused to comment on the latter question. What did you call them at her age? 'Gentleman friends'? All of a sudden she felt caught in a fifties' British novel. Another reason not to date anyone, ever.

He snorted. "In that case you should just call him over and get it over and done with."

"Get what over and done with?"

"Sharon. You are not fooling anyone."

"Dinner's in ten minutes." She turned on her heel, returned to her cooking and completely ignored the teenager behind her.

Rusty didn't know if he should laugh, sigh or cry. How could these simple things be so hard with her? Shitty situations, fine. Normal life, not fine. He shook his head.

He got up and went to get the plates.

She drained the pasta and brought the food to the table. In familiar silence they both filled their plates and started eating.

"Sharon, I'm serious. I wouldn't mind."

She glanced at him.

"Wouldn't mind what?"

"If Flynn came over." She squinched, he raised his palms. "As a friend or anything."

It didn't get a reaction either, she just returned to her dinner. He started to get annoyed. "Oh come on, I don't think you lived like a nun before I came along." When she only stopped her fork without looking up, his eyebrows rose almost to his hairline. "You did?"

"Rusty," she cleared her throat uncomfortably poking her food, "I'd rather not have this discussion."

"My God Sharon, what's wrong with you? You are an adult. It's okay."

She glared at him, seeking for her saccharine Captain Raydor voice. "I think this would be a great time to remind you about juvenile detention. That's not off the table if you keep this up."

"Yeah yeah." He refrained from reminding her that the big one-eight was just around the corner. "All I'm saying that if you wanted to ask someone over, Flynn or no Flynn, I would be cool with it. It's your house and now that the protection detail's gone..." He rolled his wrist. "I assume you had friends who came over before I lived here?"

"Some. Sometimes. Not often."

"So what's stopping you now?"

"Just haven't had the time or the need."

"I thought it was important to make time for friends."

"It is." She crossed her fingers and looked straight at him before explaining, "I've been just so busy. With the job and you, and I am not saying it's your fault, I just want to spend time with you." She gave him a true smile. "And I meet a lot of people through work."

He was about to comment something along the lines of 'like Emma?' and she cut him off before he had the chance to voice the thought.

"Then it was this whole Stroh thing and you know." She stared into middle distance for a moment. "It's been a big change, that is all."  
When she met his eyes, he nodded. That he could understand, everything just kept changing on them all the time. However, he had to make his point clear.

"I mean... If you want to be alone, that's alright I guess. But don't do it for me."

Smiling, she reassured, "I'm not."

* * *

**A/N:** _This must have been the first time I cut something instead of adding... Oh well. :D  
Also, while naming this ch I realised this whole story is a modern regency take... Except I don't have a sporting ch planned (unless you count the ballet refs). Lol.  
__Oh, and forgot to say huuuuuuuge thanks to Klara!_


	11. Chapter 11: Good Intentions

**Chapter 11: Good Intentions**

Since she was a small child, she had always been taught to put others before her own intentions. To share from what she got, for the truly rich gave from what little they had. Help out where she could so she could receive that same in return when she needed it.

Maybe that mindset was why in Sunday school the Ephesians hit a very fertile soil. Maybe if it hadn't, her life would have been easier. In fact, the only time she had walked out of church in the middle of it was when Ephesians 5:33 came up. In hindsight that felt like some cosmic joke about her life: the morning after all had started at four with Jack turning up at her door, letting her know how much in debt they were, drunk with a blonde in tow, calling her a bitch for not giving him a buy-in for another tournament. Love, respect, subject to one another, indeed.

Maybe it was naiveté that made her think the ideals in Ephesians amazing, giving her strength both at work and at home. Darkness and light, being honest and kind-hearted, service and making good of what time there is. Not a bad set of guidelines for any life.

Enter her life in the force. After joining IA it took some adjustments (and some good cries) to see how all her life, even the professional, could still be formed along those same comforting words. Now they were accompanied, sometimes even shadowed, by another distinguished words with an important message. Since joining the Academy she had firmly believed in the message, always working along that first guideline. It was a matter of pride to her.

Except for one rainy morning when she conveniently forgot everything she so cherished.

Ricky had a doctor's appointment she had forgot. It wouldn't have been a problem unless it was the same morning she had her Sergeant's exams. With quick calculations she was reasonably assured she would make it on time if the doctor was on schedule. Finding out it wasn't exactly the case, she might have turned a little rude and obnoxious mother on the poor receptionist. Sill, it had gotten her in with another doctor.

On her way to the exam she drove past a woman who had spun her car on the slippery road. For a moment she debated on stopping, but decided to do a quick check. When the driver seemed unharmed, she was pretty flippant about it, handing her a calling card of a tow truck, advised her to call it in and gave her details on how to clear it with the police for insurance purposes.

She made it with four minutes to spare.

Seeing the exam's last question made her pause. For a moment she contemplated purposefully answering it wrong, but it seemed silly, an unneeded act of sacrifice that would change nothing for the better. She answered even if she was ashamed to mark 'D. To protect and serve'.

* * *

**A/N:** _Ephesians 5:33 in NIV: "However, each one of you also must love his wife as he loves himself, and the wife must respect her husband." Other stuff paraphrased and twisted to suit the story (no need to pick up a Bible).  
__This section was an unholy mess, but there you have it. :) Took a lot of cut-paste-delete and that got me just over 500 - why not work it down to the magic number... So here it finally is!  
Next ch a__s per request (no, not really: it was coming if you wanted it or not): Sharon/Andy awkwardness... And a little mothershipping, like always, it seems.  
Also, not at all happy with ch 9-10 relations so if I go and fiddle with that, I'll let you know._


	12. Chapter 12: Ballet Shoes

**Chapter 12: Ballet Shoes**

Anton Martin owned a car dealership in a little less than seedy part of the city. His wife Wanda, who was in the process of getting a what looked like a messy divorce, was on that Thursday visiting her parents. She had taken their eight year old son, Davide, with her.

There was no drugs, no smuggling, no nothing. The only thing they constantly seemed to run into was debt. Loan sharks were no strangers to Mr. Martin it seemed. That angle might explain the execution style murder and the displaying of the body, but it certainly didn't spare them of endless stacks of financial reports and searching for connections.

Their first suspect was one Kevin Anderson, a guy the size of a barn, with a charming moniker of 'Crusher'. At first the police had only wanted to ask him a couple of questions about who their victim was and how they knew each another, seeing that he came knocking while the primaries were still underway on the scene. When the Hollywood division rookie securing the scene spotted Crusher's work tools (namely a .38 with a silencer) the suspicions arose. When Crusher started backing away from the officer and the scene, the questions became more elaborate and pressing. Hollywood Division got the guy and he was transported downtown to await questioning with Major Crimes.

After Major Crimes took over the case, it took all of three minutes to hand out the assignments. Detectives Sykes and Sanchez started gathering information on the victim as well as collating and, later, following up on the results of the neighbourhood canvassing. Lieutenants Tao and Provenza were to take care of the scene, Provenza overseeing the investigation and Tao working with SID. Lieutenant Flynn started with gathering all the financial reports he could while the Captain did some very important captainly things to which officers of lesser ranks were not privy.

It took her almost an hour to do whatever she did and by the time she emerged from her office, Flynn's desk looked like a pretty impressive replicate of the New York skyline, all conducted in paper. Provenza was back, updating the whiteboard, Sanchez tapping something out on his computer. A few minutes later Sykes emerged from the breakroom carrying a cup of steaming coffee.

Since they were all (but for Tao, who was still handling things with the SID) there, it was a good time to go through what they knew at that point. It wasn't much, but still a start. It was agreed that after this, Provenza should visit the wife and interview her for himself in person. Others seemed to still have their work cut out for them, so she only nodded at them to continue.

"Alright, let's get started on it with interviewing our friend Mr. Crusher," she ended the assembly.

"Mr. Anderson," Flynn corrected her under his breath. She still seemed to struggle with names unless she heard them a couple of times or saw them written down somewhere. Or, he had found out, the people introduced themselves to her.

Her only reply was a dagger-sharp glance in his direction before starting for the interview room. He sighed and rose to follow, the others already storming in order to observe in Electronics. It had been meant with sarcasm.

Only one uniformed officer met them at the door and Sharon paused for a moment, looking inside. Maybe talking to a what by all appearances was a hardened debt collector could be aided with a little more muscle. She called Detective Sanchez back, to Flynn's surprise at the last minute swap, and waited for him to settle against the back wall and give their suspect a firm air of 'don't even try talking to me'. When Crusher looked like he no longer had any interest in Sanchez, she touched the door handle, took a deep breath and prepared to purposefully walk into the game awaiting.

She didn't even get to finish her name, let alone let go of the door, when Crusher banged his fist into the table and lunged for — well she wasn't sure if he was going for her or the door. He really hadn't thought it through, when Sanchez was onto him before he had even rounded the table. Bad plan anyway, he would never get out. She fleetingly thought how it never ceased to amaze her what on Earth people thought they would gain by escaping from an interview room. There was probably anywhere from fifty to a hundred people per floor between them and the exit at any given time.

In her musings she attempted flattening herself against the wall to let the uniform go help out her Detective. The ensued scuffle moved closer to her position by the sheer amount of inertia a man of the size of Mr. Anderson could exude in a couple of steps. Somewhere during it some part of the participants clashed with her forcefully, knocking her almost on her knees. She grabbed the door again and pulled herself upright as the reenforcements came. Crusher was pretty much in control by then, for what Sanchez lost in size he more than made up in technique. Well, there probably wasn't much use for hand-to-hand combat in Crusher's line of work, it really wasn't the style.

Grumbling, spitting out random utterances, their (only) suspect (that far) was escorted out. The moment she saw his back, a searing flash of pain ran up her leg. She stared at it in such concentration that she had no idea Flynn and Provenza were talking to her from just a couple feet away. After probably the third time they had asked her about how she was feeling, Provenza put a hand on her shoulder snapping her back to outside world. At the same time Andy (at least in her head it felt more like her friend than her lieutenant) softly pried her other hand loose from the deathgrip she had on the edge of the door.

She ignored him, and the fact that he hadn't let go of her hand, completely. Instead she cleared both her head and her throat with a gentle hum.

"Lieutenant Provenza, would you like to go down to Hollywood division and give them a quick review of the correct procedure involving combative suspects?"

Yes, a perfectly reasonable answer to a question about being hurt. He checked her from toe to head. Looked like one piece.

"Certainly Captain. How many details should this review have?"

"As many as you like," she said firmly pushing herself straight before thinking to give some details herself. "But try to stay remotely civil."

Provenza nodded and looked Flynn meaningfully. The slight sideways nod in the direction of the Captain and a few well-executed moves of his facial muscles advised his friend to do a further investigation into her physical and emotional state. She certainly was slightly out of it since she didn't give him any indication of either understanding the silent conversation, or, as was more often the case, a reprimanding glance.

Out loud, before leaving, he said, "Get the Captain to sit down somewhere and the Paramedics to check her over."

Flynn nodded and turned to Sharon as his friend's footsteps started to fade out. He squeezed her hand a little tighter to get her attention, which she gave with both her eyes and by pulling her hand away.

"Sharon, are you hurt?"

Hurt? No. Except for whatever happened to her leg. She glance back down. Slight discoloration had started around her ankle. Great.

"Not really. I think I backed into the door." She gestured to the said item like there was a chance he would have missed seeing it.

"You sure?"

She was about to tell him firmly that yes, she was sure and to mind his own business when balancing her weight on her feet gave a faint reprisal of earlier making her, quite unwittingly, grimace.

"I'm taking that as a 'no'." He placed one hand behind her back to start guiding her back to the Murder Room. "Let's get you out and checked."

"No."

"What do you mean 'no'? Can't you walk?"

She shot him a scathing look. "Of course I can. But I'm not allowed to leave."

He was puzzled. "Sharon, did you hit your head?"

"I didn't." She unconsciously brushed a hand through her hair. "FID rules. Must stay at the scene."

He gave her a bemused scoff. "Rules schmules. Besides I think it doesn't apply when you are not involved as an active participant. Benefits to being collateral damage." He tried to give her an encouraging smile to hide the starting panic at Sharon Raydor not knowing a rule she most likely had made herself.

Her face went blank for a few seconds as she ran the relevant section in her head. A second time for a word-for-word analysis. No, no mention of this. Maybe there should be? She could always submit a proposal to amend the rule.

What was more surprising, was Flynn of all people knowing the rule. Then again, her forgetting it was absolutely disconcerting.

"Oh. That's right. Maybe I did hit my head."

She gave him a slightly embarrassed laugh and started making her way back to the Murder Room. He remained at her side, his hand hovering behind her back.

At the first step she almost went and changed the answer she had given to 'can you walk' but at noticing the way his brows furrowed at the slightest change in her expression, she told herself to suck it up for a couple steps more. After the sixth it didn't feel so bad anymore and she picked up speed before almost running into Buzz. He asked her the usual questions (was she hurt, could he do anything, etc.) before she could convince him to return to work. They had hours and hours of CCTV footage to go through.

To Andy she didn't seem quite like everything was as normal. Maybe she was even a little pale, if he really sought after something. She certainly was favoring one of her legs and the bruise forming didn't look so hot. He needed to get her at least sat down with ice and preferably checked over. He almost told Buzz to take a hike when he kept stalling her progress to the squadroom. Luckily her dismissal came first, as his way would not have gone over so well.

He continued to escort her amongst the tables and sat her down across from his desk.

"Sharon, you look a little pale."

She had no answer to that.

"I'd like to call the paramedics now, and get you a glass of water. Is there anything you need?"

"Don't call the paramedics. The water I'll take, thank you." She slowly rotated her ankle and tried very hard not to wince. Not broken, in fact not bad at all.

"I think I better call them, and so do you if you think about it for a second."

"No, I'm fine, I don't need the hassle."

"'The hassle'? It's fifteen minutes, tops, and it could make a real difference in whether you are walking or not!"

"A little dramatic, don't you think?" She waited for him to calm down a bit. "I'm feeling fine. I don't need it."

"It's still a smart precaution," he tried, adding a trump card, "Besides, it's the rules."

She scoffed. "It's not and it's not necessary even if it was."

"Nice to know there are some situations where the rules don't apply." He crossed his arms and frowned at her stubbornness.

"You yourself pointed out that this incident didn't fall under their scope. You can't have it both ways."

"I still think it's plain stupidness to not get at least your leg taken care —"

"It's fine Lieutenant," she interrupted him sternly. "And it's 'stupidity'."

"So it's alright for you to correct my sarcasm but not for me to correct yours?"

"As long as I outrank you."

"Captain, I think you —"

"Fine, Lieutenant," she snapped. "I said it was fine."

"Captain —"

"For the last time, Andy, drop it." She said it firmly but flashed him a smile to let him know she, on principle, appreciated his concern.

He threw his hands in resignation as he went to get her even that glass of water. She, on the other hand turned her attention to the piles covering his desk. Glancing quickly the top pages, she determined he hadn't gone through the piles on this side and it was alright to take some for the review.

He came back to her reading, placed the glass maybe a little too forcefully on the desk with a terse grumble of 'there'. She put down the sheet she was reading, nodded and took a sip. He sat down and started working and silently seething at the impossibility of this woman. At least she was making herself useful, though the mean part of him fleetingly wondered if she was in full control of her mental capabilities at the moment.

A quiet minute passed between them before, without looking up from the papers he was reading, he reached into his desk drawer and pulled something out. She was startled from her own reading by something hitting the edge of his desk and that something proffered into her direction.

"You can be difficult about it, but it's activated now. It either goes on your ankle or in the trash. Which one, is entirely up to you."

She had a half a mind to throw the icepack in the trash just to show him she could manage the throbbing not-quite-pain hurt. That was the petty part of her brain, obviously. Grudgingly she leaned forwards to grab the offending item and without a word toed her shoe off, raised the leg gracefully to lie on a chair and gently let the pack drop on her outstretched ankle before returning to her reading.

He smiled at his pile of reports. That was enough of a thank you for him.

-x-

It was gone afternoon and the team had been in and out completing tasks, reporting new finds, Sanchez and Sykes talking with FID, the normal hustle and bustle of investigations. Crusher had been cleared, like everyone honestly expected him to be, by Hollywood (though they booked him for about seven kinds of 'possession of an offensive weapon' amongst other things ancient, old and recent).

Provenza's gut feeling about the sincerity of the wife's shock and tears was being put to a test. Tao had finally joined the ranks and was promptly drafted to assist Provenza with both checking up on the wife's family as well as any third party corroborations for her alibi.

Again Sharon and Andy were left to their mountains of paper. With the help of FBI and careful studying they had identified some leads and some off-the-books financial patterns pertinent to the case. Sharon had her laptop open and was going through one of the rare electronic resources they had (who said paperlessness was the trademark of criminal enterprise was definitely lying) when Rusty bounded in with the usual grace of a teenager.

Seeing Sharon in the squadroom reading wasn't totally unheard of, but seeing one of her shoes lying on the floor was. She never took her shoes off when she was not alone. Then he followed her leg as far as he could and saw her resting it on a chair. Definitely not usual.

"Sharon, what the hell happened?" he called in near-panic.

Her hair flung to her face when she flipped her eyes towards the sound, almost jumping in her chair before realising it was only Rusty.

"Rusty, language. And nothing." She shut the laptop and placed it on a desk.

"Yeah the sort of nothing that involves a 300 pound suspect, the edge of a door and five inch heels," Andy mumbled from his pile of reports.

Sharon shot him a murderous look. His special brand of helping again.

Rusty didn't seem to grasp the sarcasm.

"What?"

He threw the packed lunch (well, dinner) he was bringing her on the table with a bang and placed his hands on his hips.

"Rusty, it's fine. There was an incident with a suspect — who by the way wasn't 300 pounds nor really a suspect — and my heel — which is a sensible three and one quarter —" at that she heard something that sounded a lot like disparaging snicker from across the desk, "— hit the door while I was getting out of the way. Slightly bumped my ankle."

Before Andy could jump in with any sort of a clarifying comment, she caught his eyes and in no uncertain terms communicated that shutting the hell up would be very prudent at this time.

He got the message loud and clear.

Rusty by now was kneeling beside her and carefully lifted the third icepack of the day in order to inspect the damage.

"That ankle's purple!"

She hummed with a smirk. "Good thing then that my outfit matches."

"Sharon!" He was clearly in no mood for her light-hearted comments.

"I'm sorry Rusty, but you are making a big deal of something that most certainly isn't."

"How do you know it's not broken!"

"Because I do." When he wasn't falling for that trick, she sighed. "If it was, I couldn't move it, let alone be walking."

This turned his attention to the Lieutenant marking some papers at the desk opposite.

"She has been walking? When did this happen?"

"Dunno, maybe around noon."

He did quick calculations and the resulting number of hours was entirely too much. The irritation and worry was getting him into fight mode.

"How can you let her walk around, especially wearing those heels!"

"Hey, have you met her? There's nothing anyone can 'let' her do!"

"I so appreciate the way you talk to me. Like I was actually in the room," Sharon remarked dryly.

Flynn shot her a glance that unequivocally told her to keep out of it.

"Sharon, sarcasm isn't helping right now." Rusty's voice was as close to patronizing as she had ever heard it.

She waved her hand in mock acquiescence. "Of course not."

He turned back to Flynn.

"I thought you had first aid in this building."

"Yeah, we do. She wouldn't have it."

Her mutter of 'it's just an ankle' was drowned out in the match unfolding beside her.

"You should have insisted!"

"What would you liked me to do? Carry her to them?"

"Yes!"

To that she had to object.

"Rusty!" She waited for him to meet her eye before continuing, "No one's carrying me anywhere." Flynn shot the kid a 'see, told you' look and crossed his arms.

"I'm still saying you should have had someone to look at it."

"It's fine. Not my first twisted ankle. It will be fine in a couple of days." When this didn't seem to appease the sullen teenager, she gave a deep sigh. "Rusty, if it was bad, I would have done something about it. I'm not too proud to sit down or take my shoes off if my foot was hurting." She shared a knowing look with Andy, the same smile she was using to placate Rusty still firmly on her lips. Then she remembered the next step that particular scenario led to and turned her eyes away in embarrassment. She missed his smirk.

"Yeah, whatever. But you are not, not, wearing those shoes anymore."

"Rusty, they are my only shoes. I can't be walking around without any shoes on for the rest of the day!"

"I'll get you shoes. I guess you still have the ones you had in your trunk?"

She tried to come up with any sort of an image of said shoes but failed.

"I don't know. I don't even remember the shoes, but if they were wellies or something like that, I will not put them on."

"No, they were some flats. You know, what they call them, ballet shoes?"

Andy collapsed down to his chair in a fit of laughter. "Figures."

It was Rusty's turn to shoot him a disapproving glance. "Hey, I'm no expert in women's footwear."

"Ballerinas, they are called ballerinas," Sharon helped without sparing a second to Andy's reaction.

"Yeah those. I'll go and get them."

"I'm not sure I can wear them at work."

"You are wearing them or you are going barefoot. No discussion." He leaned down, picked up the heel already lying on the floor, gave her the give signal with his hand and waited for her to remove the other one too. Then he turned and went to her office to pick up the car keys. He exited the Murder Room and made his way downstairs.

"You know he gets that from you, don't you?" Andy said in astonishment.

She covered her eyes with one hand and sighed. "I desperately hope he wouldn't."

He chuckled. "That's the trouble with kids. You hope they would grow up to be like you, then they do and you are screwed."

She let her hand fall. "I certainly wished none of my kids would turn out to be like me."

What was meant to be a joke had obviously backfired. He had always thought any kid would be lucky to grow up to be like her and had assumed that her parenting method was making the kids into little Sharons. After all the prototype seemed to be pretty perfect.

He looked at her almost sad-looking face, lost in thought.

"Hey, I'm sure you did amazing job with all of them. If Rusty is any indication, they are very much like you. People should give you the 'world's best mom' title for keeps and be done with it."

She smiled wanly. "Sweet of you to say it, but you don't know me."

He was about to object when Sykes and Sanchez entered in the middle of their own discussion. Sounded like it was about guns, but then again, what was new.

On noticing the Captain stretched across two chairs they stopped and nodded their acknowledgements.

"Detectives, I'm sorry I don't get up but my shoes seem to have been stolen."

Their confused expressions required an explanation. Andy jumped in.

"Rusty came by. Told her not to even think about wearing those shoes again. Went to get her new ones."

"Well, ma'am, that sounds like an excellent idea. I myself were thinking that maybe you shouldn't go around walking in those things with that ankle of yours," Sykes, always the master of rephrasing, said before sitting down.

Sanchez offered an amused tilt of his head.

"No problem, ma'am."

She turned as best as she could to face them and asked, "So what have you found?"

They had barely reported their findings (basically no one saw anything, but someone thought they did see something which turned out to be nothing) and headed for the next assignment (getting their new loan sharking friends answer at least some questions) when her phone vibrated. It was Rusty. 'No shoes in the car. Went home to pick some up. What colour is your dress?'

She had to roll her eyes. Andy didn't miss it.

"What?"

"Rusty. Wants to know what colour my dress is." He quirked an eyebrow. "So he can bring me shoes."

"Admit it, the kid is sweet."

She hummed. "If I say 'matt aubergine with dark navy jacket and gold belt' will he know what is needed?"

"He's a teenaged boy."

She looked at him. "So no hope."

"You got it."

She tried to think of a response he would know how to work with. It would probably be better to direct him to shoes she wanted him to bring...

"You know, you could always tell him the exact pair of shoes you want him to find."

She gave him a long look over her glasses. "Thank you, Lieutenant. What will I ever do without you."

"Play your cards right and you'll never have to do without me." He winked at her, but at her ruffled look he raised his palms and gave her a placating nod before returning to work.

He was getting better at backing off, she mused while thinking of her shoes. Why was it that everything she liked had heels?

She had finally decided on two-toned, purple and navy, ballerinas. Those he would know by shape and describing 'purple and navy, top half purple' was pretty easy. And she even knew where they were, 'my closet, second row on the left, behind the shelves'. They wouldn't exactly match her outfit, but she just had to live with that.

Besides, she wasn't far from calling it a night as it was. Andy had hinted at her a few times in the last so many hours that maybe it would be better to go home, rest for the evening and come back tomorrow in better condition. The first time she had declined, the other times she had simply ignored him.

When Rusty returned with the shoes, her mind was starting to agree with Andy. The only thing stopping her from leaving with Rusty was that conversation she was sure they were going to get into later. She was so not looking forward to that. She barely listened his venting about her shoes and probably stupidity (at least if Andy's confirming nods and frustrated practically onesyllabic answers was any indication), wondering if 'complete fatigue of men not being able to leave her alone' was an acceptable reason for sick leave.

First she was amused at the thought about how the way she had meant 'men not leaving her alone' was so far from the way she would like some man for once being able to not to do that, and she had to smirk. When she thought about said reason being able to be construed rather as a grounds for compassionate leave, if the person in HR was a woman, she chuckled.

"You are not taking this seriously at all, are you?" Andy asked annoyed, snapping her out of her own diversions.

"No, sorry, can't say that I am. I have you two taking this seriously enough for all of us, probably for the whole PD."

"Sharon!" Rusty was getting whiny. "It's your leg. Your leg. If you had broken it, in fact, if it is broken, it's a big deal. You wouldn't be able to come to my graduation or anything."

"Rusty, four months for healing a broken ankle is more than enough." She rounded up, but never mind that.

"Not if you are a stubborn mule and won't see someone who actually has the training to tell you if it was broken in the first place." Even Andy's voice scowled.

She rolled her eyes. "It's not broken. I will tell you it hurts, but it doesn't hurt that bad. My leg, my stubbornness, my problem."

Rusty and Andy sighed in unison. She suddenly wanted to drag Buzz out there and show them the video evidence of it not being a big deal, frame by frame. Imaging the results of that stunt, she thought a small concession was in order.

"If it helps you, if it's worse tomorrow, I will see a doctor. With X-rays and all."

Rusty nodded, Andy raised his palms.

"Hey, like you say, it's your leg. Just know that I will not be carrying you anywhere. And it's not me breaking the rules this time."

Rusty raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

"Well, thank you for clearing that up." She smirked at him before turning to Rusty and taking the shoes he was still holding and put them on the chair next to her leg. "It's not that I don't appreciate you getting these for me, but I would have been totally fine with —"

"No."

"No?"

"No."

"Okay."

In silence she watched him go with the call of 'see you home later'. Home. It always sounded so good coming from him. In her dreamy reverie her peripheral vision caught the look on Andy's face.

"And don't you go snickering."

"Wouldn't dream of it, Captain."

Andy rounded the desk and crouched down almost exactly where Rusty had inspected her leg earlier. He placed his left hand just above her knee, closing his fingers around it and very, very gently used his right hand to move her foot ever so minutely. She was very, very glad he didn't look at her face since she was sure it didn't look as neutral as it should.

"Does it hurt at all?"

"No. Feels stiff." Like her whole body at the moment, if being truthful.

He hummed.

"Andy, would you at least, please, believe I can take care of myself?" she asked softly.

Standing up he let his hands drop and turned to grin at her.

"Just one question, though." She nodded for a permission, expecting him to enquire about pain meds or something. "Can you wear five inch heels?"

"Of course I can, and more. Just not to walk in them."

She blamed his warm hand and compelling grin for letting that slip. Or maybe she had actually hit her head.

* * *

**A/N:** _Phew. Post-partum depression ahead: this ch had some of my favourite lines in these exercises. Hope you enjoyed.  
_


	13. Chapter 13: Modicum Of Honesty

**Chapter 13: Modicum Of Honesty**

The first time ever she had brought a boyfriend home, her mother offered him ice cream in their kitchen and her father thanked him for helping his daughter out with her homework. The boy was quiet, almost sensitive type who in that March liked three things in life: Summer, bicycles and making out with a girl who tasted like vanilla ice cream. When her parents asked if that nice boy was her study partner for the semester, she quietly wound things down. When they met her fifth boyfriend, he was quietly amused how they referred to him as 'Sharon's first boy'.

-x-

The Summer she turned eighteen, she took classes in preparation for college. The evening lessons suited her fine, and her friends never begrudged her leaving their almost daily little pool parties early. One Thursday one of the girls had made mimosas they sipped while lounging about in the sun. She agreed to take a small taste, but ended up getting a lot more later, when someone tripped with a full jug, splashing her jeans. After noon someone got the idea for funny make-overs: her girlfriends just begged to see her long hair in a full sixties style bird's nest. At eight she remembered she was supposed to be at an exam from four to six. At nine a brother of a friend dropped her home, hair a mess and a faint odour of alcohol lingering. "This is not you," was all her father said to her before Monday.

-x-

When Jack left, her dates were old friends. They went on safe dates: museums, plays, gallery openings. If given choice, she always insisted on not dining in an intimate restaurant. On date nights she worked late, changing there. At fourteen her daughter had wanted to go on a date with a boy. She was hesitant, after all her little girl was only fourteen: she remembered her high school dates, the world hadn't gotten more innocent since then. Her daughter had left the conversation in teen drama, because a woman who couldn't get a date in twenty years shouldn't judge.

-x-

The deadline for the report was close of business that day, or the end of shift. No one was to leave for home unless their papers were all in order and on their Captain's desk waiting for morning. She was called out to 'quickly check on a couple of details' three hours before the end of her shift and she had still eight pages to fill. Getting back, she tried to complete everything in a flash. Fifteen minutes to go, she was missing three pages. Realising there was no way to get them done and be out of the door by six like she had promised her daughter, she had two choices: play the 'I've got kids' card she hated or fake completing. Overly early next morning she sneaked into her Captain's office, took three photocopied pages out of her folder and replaced them with forms carrying her actual handwriting.

* * *

**A/N:** _Took a while to go through the material: cut & earmarked several chapters/sections, including the original #13. This was under the knife too, but I guess you have to post something. :D Sorry in advance if the timeline got messed up!_  
_Since ch4 I've wanted to change the title of this story (due to change in focus), but I hate when it's done midstream. I'm pretty sure I'll have to change it, but trying to hold out as long as possible (to the end, hopefully). This ch is one of the reasons change seems imminent._  
_(If you wondered how Sharon got around seeing a dr in last ch; in the original section she didn't. Just conveniently didn't post that latter half of the story. ;D)_


	14. Chapter 14: The Sleepover

**Chapter 14: The Sleepover**

That morning he had revisited their conversation about her having no social life. Somehow Sharon felt like Rusty had an obsession about his foster mother's personal connections and lacks thereof. She had narrowed the most likely reason to the fact that he was thinking about moving out thus leaving her all alone. The thought amused her, maybe she should tell him how her kids had no clue about her friends or dates either.

"I would just feel better to know you spent time with people your own age sometimes. Like out of work, even if it was with Flynn," he had mumbled as the last word on the conversation while going to get his schoolbag.

On the drive to school she nonchalantly broke the silence asking, "Do you mind if I go out on Friday? I'd be staying until the morning if you want to have a sleepover."

Rusty's eyes widened in wonder. "You didn't have to text him right that minute, you know."

"It's not Andy," she said with an unamused smirk.

"Oh."

The silence settled over the car for a few seconds.

"And it's not a date."

"That's like your mantra now, is it?" Rusty asked with laughter in his voice.

"Wouldn't have to be if you didn't think it all the time." She turned her eyes from the road in order to give him a pointed look. "So, Friday?"

"Sure. Go ahead," he shrugged. "Sharon?" He waited for her to park and turn to watch him. "I'm serious, you can invite people over."

She nodded. When he closed the door she heard him call out, "I told you it wouldn't have to be Flynn either."

Kids these days!

-x-

That Friday had been relatively quiet, the morning they had spent wrapping up a case of a murder for financial gain. The rest of the day was the usual post-case paperwork with a side-order of little cold case review. When the clock was nearing five, everyone started to slip out for the weekend.

Only Andy was still busy doing something at his desk. She didn't bother to hazard a guess as to what he was actually doing, since he had already delivered all things pertaining to the case they had. She collected her things and started to head out. On hearing her heels, Andy picked his head up and shot him a slight smile.

"No Rusty? I thought he had a routine picking you up?"

Sharon stopped at his desk, crossing her arms under the coat she had kept in her office just in case, but today thought to take home. "He does. But not today, he's going out to a friend's overnight, swears it's just to have someone beat him at video games. I think he's gotten bored of my cooking and getting woken up before midday," she answered with an affected eye roll.

"A little alone-time for you too then."

She made a non-committal hum.

"Or would you like to go and have dinner?"

Just like that? They hadn't been having dinners in weeks. But she couldn't. Unfortunately. She dropped her eyes.

"Andy, I don't —"

"It's alright if you rather be alone."

"Yes. Well, it's not that," she said raising her head. There was absolutely nothing wrong with telling friends you had other plans! "I already have plans for the evening."

"Sure?" He cringed slightly over the the amount of question in his voice. "Of course, no problem," he tried to amend with a supportive grin. "See you on Monday."

"Monday. Good night."

"Night."

-x-

She was late. Not a lot, but later than she would be if she was coming straight from home when she got the call earlier in the morning. The team noted the hurried manner she called them a good morning and deposited her purse and jacket in her office.

"So sorry for being late. Could I get a briefing on the case, please."

They all looked at her for a beat before Provenza tapped at the whiteboard and started reciting the details already known.

"Victim is Jon Henderson, 34. Prelim says COD is stabbing, between the ribs. Other injuries present. He was left behind a motel car park sometime late last night, found by a cleaner taking the trash out. Mr. Henderson has a rap sheet, including juvenile stuff. Everything from shoplifting to a rape which couldn't stick. He was recently acquitted of a felony larceny." He stopped to take a breath and turn a page in his notebook.

"Our primary suspect is a Judge Williams. The victim was reported to having harassed him since his acquittal. He believed the judge had painted a bad picture of him in his remarks which had caused his life, and I quote, 'to stand still'." He made the airquotes and started on another page.

"Judge Williams, Robert Williams, is an appellate court judge with a long and distinguished career — Captain, are you alright?" He paused to see their Captain fidgeting uncomfortably.

"Yes, fine Lieutenant."

"You don't look so fine," he said sceptically. Everyone else turned their eyes on their Captain.

"I'm fine. I just —" She didn't have the words to continue thus she opted for grabbing a seat. "From this point on, I am going to sit right here and not say a word unless asked. You carry on." She gave a wave with her hand.

"Captain?" Andy's voice sounded a little worried.

She directed her answer to Provenza, "Lieutenant, I can't be involved from this point on."

"You just got here," Andy continued.

"Yes I did." She glanced at him, but returned her attention to Provenza. "Tell me, what did the judge say when questioned?"

"Denied everything. Was horrified to be a suspect. Said he had an alibi for last night but refused to give it at this point in time."

"I see."

Sanchez met Tao's gaze and both scrunched their eyebrows. The Detective turned to face Sharon again. "Captain? I hate to say but you are sounding... weird."

"I'm not sure if I —." She drummed a foreign rhythm with her fingertips on her lips. The small tattoo was punctuated with a hum and a quick twitch of a sideways nod. She swallowed as she slid her hands in her pockets, her mind made up. "Well, I am the judge's alibi."

"You?" Andy sounded like he shot up from his seat. She didn't dare to check.

Sykes lost all words to form a question, settling with a simple "Captain?"

"Yes, me. So I suggest someone get me into an interview at some point."

-x-

They had barely sat down in the interview room before he began.

"So, let's start. Lieutenant Andrew Flynn of the LAPD, Major Crimes, interviewing Captain Sharon Raydor, LAPD Major crimes, in the case of Henderson as a corroborating witness."

"Excuse me Lieutenant, could you change places with Lieutenant Provenza, please?"

"Lieutenant Provenza is interviewing the judge."

"I see." She hummed and asked, "What about Detective Sanchez?"

"He is interviewing the neighbours with Detective Sykes."

"Ah."

"And before you ask for Tao, he's down at the scene with SID." He smirked at her. "I'm starting to feel like you don't want me here." Seeing that her face remained totally neutral, his smile faded.

"You don't."

"It's just I rather — Never mind. Let's carry on."

She straightened her pose and calmed herself. Lord have mercy, this could only end up badly, but how badly was still up for grabs.

"Right." He clicked the taping back on and started over. "So Captain, you came forward as an alibi witness for one Robert Williams, an appellate court judge, correct?"

"Yes."

"How did you know he needed one?"

"I didn't."

"When did you learn that was the case?" Already anticipating a one word answer, he thought to add, "And in what circumstances?"

"This morning, when I was briefed by my division about him being a suspect."

"Right. So were you with Judge Williams last night?"

"I was."

"In what capacity?"

"A friend." He made a slight gesture to urge her on. "For dinner."

"You have known him long?"

"Yes."

"Can you tell me in your own words about last night?"

"Starting when?"

"Well, when you met the judge."

"Okay." She took a breath to break the pace. "I was invited for dinner —"

"Where?"

"At his house."

"At what time?"

"Six o'clock."

"And the events of the evening were...?" He sounded unjustly incensed and she feared what it would look like to have him blow up at her on tape. Like he had any right. The situation was starting to get under her skin. Damn man hadn't said a word to her the whole day!

"Like I said, I was invited at his house, at six o'clock. I arrived at 5.57 pm and he met me at the door. I —"

He stopped her first longer answer with an upraised palm. "Hold on. 5.57? How can you be so sure?"

"Because we joked about it."

"And the joke was...?"

"He opened the door and said it was great to see me, that I came over too rarely but he was glad to see I was as punctual as usual. I checked my watch and said —" She stopped abruptly with a stupefied look on her face. Oh no, this was going to get bad and quickly now. He had made her lose her concentration and say things she shouldn't have. He latched onto her changed demeanor like a hawk.

"You said?"

"I said..." Was there any way to say this without the exact words? No, probably not. Better get this over with quickly. She dropped her eyes for a moment and answered only when she met his again. "I said that 'I only come when I'm told, though sometimes I can't hold out as long as wanted'. And I showed him my watch said I was three minutes early."

Her frank answer made him pause. When his wits were gathered, his demeanor in turn seemed colder. "Alright. Then how did the evening proceed?"

"We laughed, he invited me to his kitchen to wait for him to finish cooking. At about half past we sat down for dinner, afterwards we talked, watched a movie."

"And that was it?"

"In general, yes."

"Were you alone?"

"Yes."

"When did you leave?"

Uh oh, a mine to skirt again. "Does it matter?"

"The time of death couldn't be pinpointed due to conditions. All we know this far it happened between 7 pm and 2 am. We need to know if we need another witness."

"No, you don't."

"You can give him an alibi past 2 am?"

"Yes I can." She thought she saw him think 'I bet she gave him a lot more'. Well, at least that would be what everyone else seeing the interview would think. Great, just great. "After the movie we both went to bed at half past one and I didn't wake up until three when I heard the front door."

"You heard the front door at 3 am? Can you be sure he wasn't coming back then?"

"I'm a light sleeper, I would have heard him leave."

"So who was at the door?"

"His wife."

"You saw her?"

"No. He told me this morning at breakfast."

"Told you? His wife wasn't at breakfast with you?"

"No, she was back at work. She just came to get a folder she forgot. Or that's what he told me."

"I see. Do you know what his wife does with folders at three in the morning?"

"With that specific folder, no. She's a surgeon and had a double shift."

"Did you know he was married?"

"I fail to see the relevance." Seeing his scowl, she decided to not let him explain his opinion on the subject, thus quickly answering, "Yes I did."

"Thank you, Captain."

They both stood up and headed for the door without looking at each other.

It was only then that she realised how she had omitted some details which would have given a more accurate portrayal of the latter parts of the night. She was about to touch his elbow and ask him somewhere to have a chat, when they were interrupted by Provenza and Judge Williams exiting to the same corridor.

"Sharon."

"Robert."

He stepped closer and hugged her. When she readily answered, Provenza and Flynn exchanged glances over their heads. "I'm sorry for the mess."

"Don't be. It was just a couple of questions and very easy to answer ones as well." They parted and she gently patted his shoulder in an effort to encourage him. "Don't worry, this'll all clear soon. I promise."

"Well, I guess you should know," he chuckled.

"Yes, I should."

"Call you later?" She only nodded. "Take care."

"You too."

She stood still watching him leave with Provenza escorting him out. Flynn too watched their retreating backs before turning to face her.

"So I guess you did have better offers yesterday." Her unamused pout and crossing of arms made him mirror the gesture. "To be honest, I wan't sure I believed you."

"Then or now in the interview room?"

"Either."

She mentally sighed at their annoying way of chafing each other to new heights. This must be amended.

"What about dinner? After work? Tonight," she offered in the form of an olive branch.

He only looked her over from head to toe. Sneering before leaving her, he only said, "I don't think so. I think I've had enough of dinners lately."

-x-

They happened at the break room together. Sharon sighed at seeing his form fiddling with something at the counter, but was determined to act as normally as possible, this was a work environment after all. Fleetingly she thought that maybe the discouragement to off-duty relationships might have been written with them in mind.

She gingerly proceeded to the counter, stopping next to him. Andy only glanced at her (well, more like at her hands, really), reached for a cup and filled it with hot water. She nodded a thanks and proceeded to dig out a tea bag and a spoon. Briefly it annoyed her for him to assume that she wanted tea, but let it go since it happened to be true.

They both rested against the counter, quietly sipping their drinks. More than halfway gone, he exhaled loudly.

"And what was that with the hostile witness act!"

She was surprised by the strength of his opening comment, like they were already in the middle of an argument. "It wasn't an act and I certainly wasn't hostile. I was short and to the point."

He pushed himself away from the counter, placed his coffee down and crossed his arms. "You think that's the way to make yourself look good? To make our job easier?"

"It isn't about either of those things. It is about the truth."

"Truth you tried to hide as well as you could. Very convenient."

"Andy, I didn't," she sighed rubbing her temple. He was very good at giving her headaches.

"Awesome job with offering details."

"Alright, what details do you want to hear?" She slammed her tea down and turned fully to face him. "Go ahead, ask me. I'm all yours."

He only scoffed at that.

"Let me guess, your problem is with a Judge being a better title than a Lieutenant?"

He gave her a long look during which it dawned on her that maybe it hadn't been the smartest thing to say, after all, they were supposed to be friends. Good job Sharon, always crossing the lines.

"You said it, not me."

"Andy, we don't have that kind of a relationship." She meant both herself and Robert as well as him.

"Yeah, I'm beginning to see that." He emptied the last of his coffee before again looking her over from toe to head. "You're just not the person I thought you were," he said starting to leave.

"Andy!"

"Sorry Captain, I have an interview to get to."

-x-

For the second time that day Andy Flynn was sitting opposite a woman involved with Judge Williams. This time the woman wasn't a lithe brunette but an amazonesque blonde. Her short hair was wild and windblown, her clothes soft and homely. This time getting answers didn't feel like pulling teeth either. The trick was more like keeping her on topic, he had found in the few minutes he had been in her presence.

"So, Mrs. Williams. We're here to check up on few things. As you know, your husband has been named a suspect in a recent case." She nodded. "Thus we need to check on his alibi. He tells us his alibi for the night is one Sharon Raydor, that they were at your home, had dinner and she stayed over. Do you know her?"

"Of course I know Sharon! We've known each other since... Oh, I'm not sure I care to admit. Let's say before college and leave it at that."

"So it wasn't surprising to learn she was with your husband the night in question?"

"Of course not!" She giggled, for the lack of a better, age-appropriate term, before the realization hit. "Wait, 'to learn'?" "You are insinuating that —" She couldn't help the giggles. "You are insinuating that Bob and Sharon — that they had some clandestine affair going?" She hid her laughter behind one carefully manicured hand. "I'm sorry, this is just priceless. Funniest thing I've heard in ages!" She giggled a few notes more before affecting seriousness. "I hope you told Sharon."

"What makes you think it's such a ridiculous conclusion? After all she was alone with him in your house, sleeping at the time? Also she told us about a joke of, let's say, questionably sexual nature she shared with your husband."

"Yeah, that's their gig alright." The giggles surfaced again and she flapped her hand. "I'm sorry." She paused until she was sure she had gotten herself under control. "Sharon can be a bit, let's say, bad with the jokes. But if you think that means an affair was the case, then you don't know Sharon. She wouldn't do that, she wouldn't let herself do something like that. As for other reasons, they have known each other even longer than me and Sharon. If they wanted to be together, they'd be married by now. They are more like siblings. In fact, I believe they met through her father. Then there's that little point of me being the one who invited her over." She smiled at him slyly. "Unless you think I'm in the habit of procuring women for my husband to sleep with."

Weirder things have been known to happen, he thought but refrained from saying it out loud.

"Then why did you invite her over knowing you wouldn't be home?"

"Because she has been so... gloomy. I mean the poor woman has been living like a hermit, what with the protection detail haunting her every step. Now it's no more, she's been released out to the wild and we have to rehabilitate her. I don't think she's realised she can go and do as she pleases, especially if the kid's out with friends. Hasn't been easy with her family and friendships either. I think she had a fight with someone recently. Haven't asked but Bob said she seemed quiet, distracted. We wanted to give her a chance to breathe, relax with friends and forget for a while. I was supposed to be home but had to swap shifts late."

"But you came back during the night?"

"Yes, to get a patient file I forgot. I do stupid things like that. Bob always says it's a miracle I can be a surgeon with a mind like mine. To which I usually remind him that it's my hands, not my mind, they pay the big bucks for."

"And you talked with your husband while back?"

"Yes, he came down to see what was the noise about. We talked a couple of minutes, don't remember the words exactly but I guess the topics were something about the lack of my mental capabilities and that the evening had gone well and that Sharon was trying to sleep."

"What was the time?"

"Oh, I don't know. Three? There abouts."

"And what happened then?"

"I went back to work, Bob went back up, to sleep, I presume."

"And you didn't see Captain Raydor at any point?"

"No, but I'm sure she woke up. She's a light sleeper and our guest room is right next to the entrance. Very bad for her. Especially since I have a bad habit of going through doors like a petulant child. Bob always chides me about that, tells me the hinges aren't designed to take that much abuse."

-x-

While he had been checking things over with Mrs. Williams, the team had found out evidence both clearing the judge completely as well as setting the blame on the victim and his illegal tendencies. It had started to look like a retributive beating amongst fellow criminals gone a little too far.

Sharon had been confined to her office doing things unrelated to the active investigation. It had given her time to think about the damn mess she had found herself in with Andy today (the other mess didn't sting nearly as much, it was pure bad luck). Her opinion on the causes and approaches to the situation had changed almost every fifteen minutes. However, this was the last time ever she was taking Rusty's advice on anything, she mused.

One thing was sure: their friendship was a fallacy.

Andy had walked into her office at the end of the day and stared at her cleaning her desk in silence. A couple of times he had tried to approach the issue always getting only a few words into it before starting over. He came to the conclusion that her moving about was a distraction.

"Can't you just still while I apologize!"

"There's no need."

"Of course there is!" His raised voice made her stop and look out to the Murder Room. Looked empty. Last thing she needed was the whole building privy to her messes. He realised that and reined in his temper and volume a bit. "I jumped to conclusions, was an ass like I usually am and acted like — I don't even know what."

"Alright, apology accepted." She didn't have the energy for this conversation today, she needed to think things through on her own. Maybe it was a blessing he didn't want that dinner she offered him.

"It just pissed me off you went grabbing for anyone other than me to tell your story."

"This is exactly why I did it," she said, meaning the whole damn mess that wouldn't exist without them triggering each other during the interview.

As usual, he misinterpreted. "Yes, I get it. Ignore Flynn, he's nothing. Good plan, thanks a lot."

"Fine. If that's how you like it, maybe we should go there."

"So no explanations, no apologies?"

She grabbed her purse and left him alone in her office. "You wanted to be ignored, here it goes."


	15. Chapter 15: Stranded

**A/N: **_Wow guys! Thank you so much!  
__Klara: capital A delivered. ;)_  
_Fixing them... but they are so much more fun broken! ;'c  
__Also: someone asked for Sharon on a date. Almost answered 'not gonna happen', but forgot this..._  


* * *

**Chapter 15: Stranded**

For Valentine's Day after Jack's third trip to Vegas, he had surprised her with an invitation to a cruise. Their interactions the past month had been great, it felt like old times. He had made her laugh and she had started to think about planning for future that included him, so it was easy to accept.

The day came and she had been so nervous at work, for her whole shift. They had agreed to first meet at the house, get things ready and then drive for the marina together. The kids had been picked up by a sitter, there was nothing else to worry about other than having a good time.

Skipping up the stairs to their porch she was already taking off her work clothes (damn buttons taking too much time!) and when she walked in to the house, she was surprised by dim lights, faint music and a card lying on the floor. Throwing off her jacket, she picked the card and read it.

'Welcome home, sweets! Take a while to relax, bath is waiting upstairs. Get ready, I'll meet you at half past six.'

She smiled at the note. Charming, just like him.

She bounded straight through their upstairs bedroom to the adjoined bathroom and indeed, there was a bath waiting for her. She dipped her fingers in the water and it was just perfectly warm. Two candles were lit on the tiles, the water sprinkled with rose petals and sweet salts.

Stripping, she returned to the bedroom to get another towel for her hair. Only when she threw her shirt on the bed, she noticed the fresh rose petals covering the sheets, a bottle of chilled champagne (the good stuff) and a glass at the ready on the bedside table. She felt giggly and light-headed at his planning. Almost like on their first Valentine's Day.

But she had made a little planning on her own. Her little overnight suitcase was packed on the floor of the walk-in closet, her new dress hanging hidden in a bag, at the very end of the line of all her dresses. The dress she bought was a dress her mother would have called scandalous. It was way too short, way too tight, way too red and way too revealing even in her own eyes. If this was going to be a romantic cruise with her too-long absent husband, it would be just right, her mother didn't get a word in it. It was just the thing he would love, she was sure, especially after seeing the reactions in the shop when she had first tried it on.

After a long soak (and almost as long sips of chilled champagne), drying her skin with a towel she drained the bath, wrapped herself in a satin robe and sat on the edge of the bed to wait for him to arrive, perhaps a little suggestively. An hour later the suggestive qualities were but a memory, her robe being only thing still resting on the bed. There wasn't enough time left for anything, and she had decided to make use of the time getting ready.

For a moment she had considered wearing the red dress already to the marina, but finally decided against it. There would be chances for that later. Sitting fully dressed with her suitcase downstairs, she called him, getting hold of his secretary telling her he had already left. She left a message for him telling to meet her at the marina, a copy of the same in writing right where she had found his welcome message earlier.

At the marina she waited as long as she could, finally conceding defeat and leaving his ticket at the check-in to wait for his arrival. In their cabin she encountered a box with what looked like a kit to copy the set-up in their house. She flopped on the bed, staring the ceiling until she felt the departure. So this was how it ended.

Sighing she stripped herself down to the red lacy underwear Jack never got to see, donning on the skimpy dress her mother would hate. Going for dinner she absentmindedly checked the look in the mirror, barely recognizing herself. The man she spent the evening with seemed to like what he saw, which wasn't all that much despite his best efforts to look down her cleavage, before his interest waned seeing that she wasn't putting out easily. Maybe the wedding ring wasn't a clue enough.

As the night started to turn to morning, she went back to the impersonal cabin, alone, almost tripping on the box with champagne and red roses, never finding out if he had done the preparations at their house himself.

The next Valentine's Day she spent drinking alone in an expensive and very exclusive restaurant, at a table for two, wearing a dress a passer-by had called slutty under her breath.


	16. Chapter 16: Twilight

**Chapter 16: Twilight**

"Congratulations." His word was upbeat and he grabbed her for a hug as soon as the door was open.

She tried her best to channel her annoyance and surprise into amusement. "I think you misread the invitation. It's Rusty's birthday, not mine."

Picking on the masked displeasure in her voice, he turned instantly defensive. "I thought it was customary to congratulate a parent for getting their kids into adulthood."

"Oh, I think that's 21," she answered matter-of-factly.

"Well, sorry, can't take it back."

She straightened her already perfectly straight dress and showed him in. He rolled his eyes. Clearly the invitation to the party and the plea for help (bringing their dinner paraphernalia to the beach) hadn't come from her but Rusty.

It was again instantly obvious to him that they still weren't back where they were. She hadn't made up her mind about what to do with that, but was glad that working with him was nearly as easy as it had been when she transferred.

She went to the kitchen with no offers of hospitality. He headed for the living room to have a chat with Rusty.

"Hey kid! You're lame, you know that?"

"Yeah? You know you're 'lame' for using the word 'lame'?"

"Well at least I'm not the one turning eighteen with a bunch of near-pensioners. You should have friends your own age."

"He has. This is just a birthday pre-party. He's going out with friends for an actual party." Sharon was carrying a vase from kitchen to somewhere Andy didn't know along the hallway. Probably her room or storage.

"And there you have it." Rusty's grin was wild. "So what's your excuse for not having anything better to do on a Friday night than to attend a teen's lame birthday party which is not even a party?"

His eyes followed Sharon returning to the kitchen, lingering on the way the hem of her flowing dress rolled against her calves.

"Okay, I so didn't need to know that. Do me a favour? Call it a birthday present if you like." Andy nodded, refusing to answer to the insinuation. "Don't be alone with Sharon until I'm gone." At the older man's shocked look he thought to clear the matter somewhat. "I mean for the evening. I don't need that drama in my life today."

They watched her banging about the kitchen, gathering this and that they were meant to bring with them for their little seaside picnic.

"I mean, she's like moody," Rusty hissed after checking that Sharon was completely hidden behind the fridge door.

Andy raised his eyebrows and fleetingly thought about asking why or how. Instead, he turned the conversation to what he thought would be a safer topic. "So what did she get you?"

"Um, a bus pass."

"Seriously? Not much fun for an eighteen year old," he practically sniped the last part at Sharon, who had emerged back into the view.

"Practical presents are good for any age, Lieutenant," she plainly stated from her stacking of containers.

Andy and Rusty both turned their heads, partly because of her tone and partly because of her use of 'Lieutenant' off-duty. She feigned ignorance.

-x-

Driving both their cars to the beach was a welcome relief. The packing had been an exercise in snappy commands and sulking, both of them vividly reminded of family holidays when their kids were small. Rusty had conducted more eye rolls in the fifteen minutes than in the whole of the last year, he suspected.

Andy was first on the scene, so to speak, and had already distributed a first round of carrying to the rest of the team. Provenza had declined everything that wasn't food or drink, claiming that he was too old for manual labour.  
When Sharon's car arrived, he walked over (on the passenger side, of course) and as Rusty opened the door before she had properly parked the car, a blast of string music filled the air.

"What the hell is that?" Andy asked as a greeting.

"Ravel," Rusty stated, barely fighting the urge to roll his eyes.

"The Bolero guy?"

He shrugged. "If it is, I haven't heard it. You know Sharon: never pick the obvious."

"How can you listen to that, on your birthday?"

"Sharon loves it. What Sharon wants, Sharon gets," he made a face at Sharon, who was closing her door, and she shook her head in amusement, her smile fading when she met Andy's eyes. He visibly winced.

She had made good on her promise, barely talking to him since their fight. Actually, today it seemed like an accident that she looked in his direction the few times she did. During the picnic Andy had watched her interact with the others. She laughed with them, smiled at them. To him she was polite, but succinct and distant in her communications. In exchange, he was sure she and Buzz had never had conversations as long in the whole of their acquaintance. Poor Sykes probably thought they were new best friends.

He wanted to go and grab her by the arm, drag her somewhere and get this farce to end.

Trouble was, he wasn't sure Sharon wanted that. She seemed as professional and content as she had been when Brenda was still heading Major Crimes. She didn't seem like the sort to be silently pining for something. No, she looked like a person who had closed a door on something she didn't want anymore.

His only encouragement was Rusty's comment of her being moody. He liked to think it was because of him, only due to arrogance or masculine pride as it might be.

Provenza scowled at him all through the evening. He didn't care. He kept himself plenty busy with good food and idle conversation with everyone. Everyone except Sharon.

Tao had brought his family along and Rusty had spent a great deal of his evening around them. Even still, he had kept his eye on Andy and Sharon and the fact that Andy really was keeping away from her. A scene in the middle of his birthday party was par for the course in his life, but this time he really wanted for the two idiots wait until he had gone. After all, he had given them the perfect opening for some private conversation by asking for Andy's help.

When Sharon called everyone together for the opening of gifts, Rusty was tempted to sigh of relief. Almost over.

The team had given him a couple of fun presents and the last one left was a weird looking envelope. He opened it hesitantly, dragging out a thick stack of papers.

Reading the words on the topmost sheet, he looked at Sharon. "I already have a bank account, and you know it."

"You do, but this is different. It's for three years, until you're 21," she explained running her finger along the relevant lines. "I'm putting 70 dollars on it each month and it's yours to do what you want on your birthday, with interest. A little nest egg if you will, for after graduating or spending on something fun."

"Why seventy?" he asked slowly, still calculating what it would amount to. A lot.

"Because my kids had accounts their grandparents deposited ten dollars each month from their birth. Let's just say you came a little late to this party."

She smiled at him and he gave her a brief hug, saying a soft 'thank you' into her hair.

As Sharon turned back into the perfect hostess, offering everyone more drinks, another helping of food, people started to make their excuses to leave. Buzz, Sanchez and Sykes helped Andy to carry the larger items back to his car and Sharon began to put the food back into their containers with the help of the Taos. Rusty was forbidden from helping, Provenza refusing to lift a finger.

One by one the team left, leaving only Sharon, Andy, Rusty and Kevin behind. The boys started to head off as well when they had put most of the things together and packed the majority in the cars.

"Rusty, before you leave." She went to dig into one box under their tables and returned with a slim object wrapped in snowflake paper. "Here."

He laughed seeing the paper. It was the same she had used this past Christmas. "You take recycling a little too far, Sharon."

"Let's call it a confiscated Christmas present."

Rusty ripped the paper, revealing a game he had begged for since October and she had absolutely refused to get him after seeing the '18+' printed on the cover on their Christmas shopping trip. "You bought it after all?"

She nodded smiling.

"You know, you're the best!"

"I do know."

Seeing the boys walk off along the beach, only the cries of the birds distracting them, Andy grabbed his opportunity to gauge her mood.

"Okay, you give great presents."

"You changed your opinion quickly."

"Nah, you know that earlier was just... Being an ass for being an ass's sake." When she didn't indicate any amusement, or actually anything at all, he tried again, by shocking her with a truth. "I think you do nearly everything pretty damn perfect."

"You have a pretty lofty opinion of me."

Nothing. Absolutely nothing, flat tone and all of her attention at packing the last odds and ends.

"You have impressed me. Cause and effect."

She scoffed. "Easy to impress someone who doesn't know you."

Watching her barely giving him the time of the day, he lightly touched the underside of her arm and with a sideways nod beckoned her to sit down with him. He was partly surprised she took his cue at all, partly relieved.

Even slightly amazed at not getting any protests.

When she had settled beside him, looking out to the ocean, he got back on the subject. "Really? You think I don't know you?"

"Not well enough."

"Let's see," he pondered for a moment of how to convince her of the opposite. "You like rules."

She laughed dryly. "Even a blind Chinese person would know that about me after two days! It took Rusty less than fifteen minutes!"

Her response didn't dissuade him. "You like rules. Because they tell you who to be. You like rules because they keep you safe."

"That's an easy conjecture." She wasn't amused, she wasn't impressed.

"Truth often is," he stated, taking a deep breath before taking a chance. "But where rules fail you, you fall back on routines." He glanced at her, still nothing. "You like rules because you love compartmentalizing. Rules allow you to close off things you don't want to face, either then or at all." At that, she briefly glanced away. He pressed on, "And what is more, you love the rules because by knowing them where they exist, they define exactly how to break them without getting caught." He grinned at that, it always amused him how willing she was to step through loopholes. "Besides, shouldn't it be more important to want to know you?"

She stared ahead, feeling too exposed to face him. After watching a flock of seagulls fish their supper, she cleared her throat.

"Did you ever consider counselling as a career option?" she asked meekly.

"No, too many rules," he tried to deadpan but the timbre of his voice betrayed his joking. "Do you honestly think I could listen to someone's problems for an hour without telling them their only problem is being an idiot?"

"It could have been the newest success in the self-help industry. 'Your only problem is idiocy.'" She took a pause. "Needs a little further development to work on me, though. I know I'm an idiot but don't seem to get to the next step."

"Which is what?"

"Fixing it."

"Not all problems have fixes."

"A problem without a solution is not a problem."

"While every problem has multiple solutions."

She shook her head with a tightly tied laugh. "What is it when even trite sayings can't agree?"

Taking her willingness to talk as a very, very positive sign, he leaped into what he had wanted to say for a long time.

"Speaking of trite sayings, there's this one I think we have violated enough."

"Oh, which one's that?"

"'Never let the Sun set on your anger.'"

"I'm not angry at you," she admitted, still not meeting his eyes.

"You're not? And you have to know that I never was."

"It was the situation, our tempers."

"You're very good at ignoring me —"

"I always do my best.

"— but I rather you didn't."

There wouldn't have been any words that could mask the fact they both were lying, or at least skirting things. Committing the sin of omission, at any rate.

"We work so well together, you know," she started, "and it's because we go about things from different angles but full-on. You interviewing me, or me interviewing you, it will never work just because of that. We chafe." She wanted to say that if only he had talked to her before going in there, things would be easier, but held her tongue. No use now, only thing left was to address what actually had happened. "But saying what I said was a low blow." Understatement of the year. "You know I had no right and I have no excuse. I can't help but to snap at people sometimes and I'm so sorry for it."

Still studying the coming waves, she hummed at a memory. "In fact, the first thing my kids told Rusty was to avoid saying anything to me if I seemed tired, especially if deep in thought. Poor boy didn't dare to talk to me for a week." For the first time she faced him, only for a second, but it was a start he welcomed. "Have you ever met an officer that didn't seem tired?" She sighed. "I know, I'm rambling."

He had noticed it too, just in the way she always kept changing subjects to close off any openings to things she didn't want to discuss. To warrant such an all over the place monologue, they must be very close to something she either didn't want to hear or say.

Well, two could steer away faster than one.

"Have you ever wondered how my start of an apology to you always ends with you apologizing to me?"

"Because you can't keep on the subject," she smirked at him, her eyes twinkly over the rim of her glasses. "Guilty conscience grown with love."

This time he took the playfulness as a good sign.

"I think I should give you a pre-emptive all-inclusive apology for every stupid-ass thing I've ever done and am more than likely to do in the future."

"That's alright, I rather hear the apology so I know when you've cooled down enough." She flashed him that smile that without a fail told him he was talking to Sharon, not Captain Raydor. He had missed it. "Just remember, as soon as you start saying it, I accept, even if I am being impossible at the time."

"I know, you don't give up on people easily."

"No, I don't."

Thinking they both had said everything they would or could say on the subject, she moved on.

"Did you know I love Ephesians? 'Do not let the sun go down on your anger'." He didn't seem to know what she meant. "That's Ephesians, chapter four. Verse twenty-something."

"Hey, now you make me feel like a bad Christian."

"Sorry." She joined his laughter. "I wouldn't know that if I didn't like it so much. All those church and letter bits aren't so interesting, but I like the single verses, the instructions for good life. Even the slavery bit."

"For what are we all but slaves to someone."

"That's exactly it, but I'm sorry, I can't place that."

"Just made it up in the hopes you would know something similar and think me well-read."

She looked at him in full Captain Raydor mode, but he saw the affected quality in the veneer.

"Remind me not to ask your opinion when next needing to check on policies."

"Remind me to sell my stock when you next need to ask an opinion on policies."

"I'm not that bad." His look clearly communicated 'yes, you really are'. "Anyway, Ephesians has helped me during the years to evaluate how I succeed in what I do, in life. I know I am twisting the meaning a lot and it might be considered blasphemous, but it's what works for me."

"I think I have to read up on it."

She was about to nod but then remembered the bits about wine and marriage. They were pretty big bits.

"Not really happy thoughts."

"Don't tell me you are one of those fire and brimstone people." She looked at him in surprise, opening her mouth to say something, but he prevented the words by saying, "I am a firm believer in our lives being shitty enough to not need adding more with guilt over not living by some ancient customs. Don't get me wrong, I think religion is great, but more as a guide than a law." She kept looking at him in what was best described as surprise. "Maybe I shouldn't have said that. It doesn't come out right, like I mean it."

She hummed with a slight nod, reaching out for a glass of non-alcoholic champagne substitute (he hadn't bothered to ask what it was, he had other things in mind then and just drank it). He sighed. Maybe he had put his foot in his mouth again. Maybe he should reiterate what he meant to say.

"I know we can't get back to where we were, after me disrespecting you like I did, but I'm honestly willing to put in the work. Even if I can't say it eloquently."

She twirled the long-stemmed glass in her fingers. "And I'm not living in some romance novel where pretty words are needed."

They watched the darkening sea in a silence that was almost comfortable. The little wind blew Sharon's hair just gently around her shoulders and he was intermittently distracted by it. He studied her profile, wondering what she was thinking. He had no idea, she was so hard to read sometimes. Actually, it felt like a rare privilege to learn even the tiniest bit about her. A privilege he had been granted more and more often before their... misunderstanding.

"For a person who loves so many things starting with an 'R', I've noticed something," he said breaking the silence. "You don't put much stock in romance."

She kept looking to the distance and hemmed. He looked at her delicate fingers playing with the sandal strap around her ankle. Back at her condo when he had seen her take out the silly things, he had to bite his tongue. Who in their right mind wore strappy sandals with killer heels to a beach? Apparently she did, and well.

"No." Her gaze dipped to her glass where bubbles turned into small sparkles with the setting sun. "Not anymore."

Her references to life lived haunted him. He hesitated whether he should keep on the subject, on the off-chance she wanted to talk. Would she ever open up with him? Would she ever start a personal conversation?

Her words almost startled him.

"Love letters. You know I've always wanted to be one of those women who wrote love letters." She smiled and bashfully dipped her head forward. Behind her hair he heard a near silent laughter, just little exhales of air. "Ridiculous, I know." He thought that anything making her smile like that was as far from ridiculous as possible.

He offered her his hand. She readily accepted.

* * *

**A/N:** _Remember the raspberries in ch2? See, there was a reason why they were raspberries!  
No prizes for guessing which were the hard bits. Had four apologies written, didn't like any of them, thus headcanon says Andy's bad at apologies and Sharon doesn't want to hear them. Logical. :)  
Title thanks to a joke a friend made about my summation of chs15-16.__  
airlock goddess: if it helps, there's a guy called Edward (purely a coincidence, I swear!) coming later... ;D_


	17. Chapter 17: Retribution

**Chapter 17: Retribution**

Her mother looked like death warmed over. Probably for the third or the fourth time, if accuracy meant anything. It was the worst bug their generation had ever encountered and it showed.

Sharon was convinced her mother needed help, needed taking care of, since her father was never any good with the holding hands department. Especially when in work.

She lied the teachers had a training day, Mother countered with a 'not on your life'. She didn't bother trying to fight with her mother, after all there was no way of besting Mother, even when Sharon knew she was right.

-x-

On a training exercise she got shot. It was her fault, executing her moves sloppy she deserved to get that marker in her vest. The yelling she got after felt even more warranted. The trainer was right, hearing the rant that made her ears hurt was the only way she learned.

The unfortunate reminder of her mistake in the form of a bruised rib that hurt like hell (to this day she was convinced it was actually broken and the doctor was just a condescending asshole who didn't think women could handle the job). She kept her mouth shut at home, her kids and her family didn't need to know.

That week she got very good at coming up with inventive ways to tell his kids not to touch her without giving out any signals of something being wrong, without telling them not to touch her.

She had a good run until Ricky fell off a tree in the park. She had told him not to jump, several times, even coming close to threatening him if he did. He had told her he was a big boy and all the cool kids jumped off of that same branch.

He had jumped, scraping his knee and breaking into a heart-wrenching wail.

Instead of being angry with him, of telling him 'I told you so', she crouched down to wrap her arms around him in an effort to console him.

She tried finding a way to pick him up against her good side, but even slightly straining her arm made her breath stop. She was ashamed to resort to tough love.

Patting his back and kissing his cheek, she stood up.

"Come on, I'm not carrying big boys."

Ricky's face twisted but he valiantly wiped his nose and followed his mother. She was immensely proud of him, and immensely disappointed in herself.

-x-

Helping Rusty bettered her life. Some days, she thought if she was truly smart, she would've listened to words her first partner had told her once.

"You either choose to go or you choose to stay, to keep safe or to take a chance, keeping in mind that while choosing one, the other follows."

(He was a real poet, he was.)

"You can't save every person worth saving. No use trying, you'll wear yourself out or better yet, get yourself killed trying. No, choose."

Only in retrospective dreams did she find the courage to step out from behind that crate.

-x-

She heard banging through the fluffy haze of sleep. Jack was back in. Throwing up, it sounded like. Serves him right.

He dragged his feet into the bedroom. Falling down beside his side of the bed, he groaned and mumbled, "Couldn't you at least buy lactose free milk?"

That'll teach him to pinch her work lunches. She smiled to her pillow. He retreated to the bathroom. An hour later she woke to turn on her side and heard her husband whimpering in the bathroom. She only stretched her arms high above before snuggling tight under the duvet.

Slumber, sweet slumber.

-x-

A friend, who later was ostracized from their little church going group of good Christians, poured her heart out over her impending divorce. She wanted Sharon's counsel; instead of giving it, she poured drinks down her throat.

Jack was again making a star performance in the skill he had best mastered during the past years. She still remembered the first mention of divorce. He had laughed. A fucking full belly laugh, squeezing her upper arms in what he thought portrayed affection. "Good one, Sharon," he had said on his way out.

Or maybe that wasn't the first, if she thought back. But it was the first time she had meant it, not just something said for shock value in a heat of a moment.

The evening ended with her friend helping her into a cab in throes of giggles, all tirades about bastard husbands long gone silent, but not forgotten.

* * *

**A/N:** _I read the last chapter. Don't know how it ended up so mushy. :D Blame my inability to use delete properly. _  
_(Also, have you noticed my Jack gets worse and worse? Yeah, don't know what that's all about.)  
Guest: Sharon has perfect manners, so... yes. :) She might have been a little miffed about it, or taken totally by surprise, but that's just splitting hairs._


	18. Chapter 18: Liberty

**A/N:** _This is a chapter where, at the latest, were this a real story, some serious research would have been nice. Hope you can enjoy regardless._

* * *

**Chapter 18: Liberty**

Their last seaside dinner still fresh in his mind, Andy was feeling a few butterflies approaching the restaurant. He was praying under his breath his anxiety and expectations weren't visible to his friend. Of course that was an empty wish, after all they had been friends far longer than either was proud to admit.

He changed his prayer to 'let Provenza keep his mouth shut'.

It was a nice gesture from Rusty to ask them all for an after graduation dinner. Either he had intrinsically great manners or it was all Sharon's great parenting. They had all accepted the invitation bare for Sykes who had a family engagement. Buzz and the Taos were early leavers too, but Sharon had told them it was fine, the intention was to have only a quick trip to the restaurant since Rusty was going to a beach party with fellow graduates.

The dinner was as quick an event as promised. The restaurant had been nice, the food enjoyable and the mood joyful. Sharon was beaming all through the re-telling of the actual graduation, Rusty in turn seemed more relieved that the whole thing was over and done with. His dry comments didn't dim her smile one bit.

This was a Sharon Andy preferred immensely to the one she had been on Rusty's birthday. He hoped she would stay that way, even after Rusty left. She had been known to put on an act every once in a while. He was cautiously optimistic that she really was feeling happy and comfortable around him. They had been getting back to where they were, slowly, so he felt there might actually be a sliver of a cause for said optimism.

But at the moment he was completely fascinated by this overtly happy Sharon, to the point of being obvious (oh, who was he kidding? It should be 'more obvious'...) to Provenza. He had already received three eye rolls and two nudges of elbows into ribs during the dinner.

Thus when Provenza had made for the bathroom after the dessert, he seized the opportunity to ask Sharon if now was the time for Rusty's present. He leaned closer to her, obviously too close, insisting on quite accidentally puffing a mass of her curls away from her ear. She startled a bit but says nothing, does nothing to acknowledge his possible transgression.

He says nothing, does nothing, but pushes on with the question he was intending to ask. If he feigns a slight loss of balance in the middle of it just to feather his lips against her neck, he'll do penance later.

Her only response was a single nod, sharp. A silent 'do it' if there ever was one.

He stood up to leave just as Provenza returned to his seat. She met Provenza's eye in passing while turning to the other side to have a chat with Buzz. Despite knowing she was totally obvious to Provenza, she covered the side of her neck with a palm of her hand.

-x-

When Andy came back grinning, carrying a big brown cardboard box, the team gathered together and Sharon called for Rusty come over to get the box. She said a few words, but without further ceremony asked Rusty to open his present. He did as he was told but after one look inside he was none the happier.

"You got me a globe and a toy car? Geez, you shouldn't have bothered." When no one seemed to be laughing outright or offer him any explanations, he had to add, "I mean, like really."

"Look inside, Rusty," Sharon said with that manner which always told him she was amused even if she thought she shouldn't be.

He twisted the globe apart and pried one tiny car door open, dragging out a card reading 'option 1' and a slip of paper in a tight roll proclaiming 'option 2'.

"There's a joke here to be made about a third option, isn't there?"

"Ha ha."

"No, seriously. I don't get the present."

Provenza gave a perfect performance in exasperation. "And we all thought you were smart! Captain, I demand a refund."

The others shared a laugh, but she began the explanation like Provenza didn't exist.

"Well, I didn't know what to get you. My kids got to travel as their graduation presents but I don't know if that's something you would... If it was appropriate. And if you end up starting a job soon, a car would perhaps be more practical." She read his dumbfoundedness as displeasure, thus starting to further explicate, "I can't give you both at this time, but I hoped you'd like one of them." He still seemed like he didn't find words to say. "But if there's something else, I can get you a third option." She swallowed. "The team pitched in for a complementary present for whichever you choose, but if you think of something else, I'm sure they'll think of something else too." She glanced back at the guys waiting behind her. "Whatever you prefer."

Rusty looked at her wide-eyed. This probably still wasn't registering right. "You — I mean, you would buy me a car, just like that?"

"Of course."

"A real car, that I could actually drive anywhere, that worked and everything?"

"With four wheels and all." Her brief smile was more like a smirk. "I'm sorry you didn't get anything concrete for today, but..."

"Sharon. Are you seriously apologizing for a present that's like better than every present I've ever got put together? You know you're insane, right?"

She meekly played with her intertwined fingers and offered them a bashful smile. She could make no other response before Rusty had wrapped his arms around her. After their long hug he proceeded to thank every member of the team personally. He was humbled by the scale these strangers had taken him in their weird little family.

As he thanked people, they started to leave one by one. Andy hanged back, to the clear displeasure of Provenza. He had given Andy a look of raw warning. He had returned it with a scowling shrug.

When there's only Andy, Sharon and Rusty left, the boy doesn't waste time telling that he needs to get going, need being a relative word. Sharon picks on that, but doesn't begrudge his anxiety. She only tells him to have fun and keep his phone with him. He acts displeased, but she presses on.

"You call me if you need anything? A ride or anything. And be home early."

The 'but mom' look on his face makes her a dozen ways giddy every time.

Andy and Sharon watch him leave and she slips her shoes off. Seeing the gesture, the corner of his mouth twitched. She didn't react at all.

By silent agreement they start walking along the beach, heading to the opposite direction. Neither one really notices at first how his hand on the small of her back slips more like around her waist, and when they do, neither cares all that much.

"Where's your car?" she asked after a while.

"Back there," he answers tilting his head back to the direction where they were coming from.

"You don't need to keep me company, I'm not one of those mothers." He didn't know why some mothers needed more company on the day of their kids' graduation, but he didn't really care about that either.

"I seek your company for my own joy."

"That sounds like a quote from somewhere."

"Just don't go telling Provenza I read Paolo Coelho."

She lost herself completely for a moment before slowly collecting herself, the glint in her eyes playful. "Please tell me you don't."

"Nah, can't read, me."

His boyish grin and shrug sent her off to another fit of the giggles.

-x-

The morning after she let Rusty sleep and went to the market alone.

At her leisurely pace, she lost most of the afternoon as well. It was relaxing for a change to just stroll about, browse, have an unhurried cup of coffee. Coming back home carrying three paper bags she was feeling oddly positive about her life.

That uncommon occurrence didn't live long since Rusty was already waiting for her with news she had been dreading. His mother.

"She what?" Her question was on the upper limit her brain could work to at the moment.

"She contacted me, like wanted me to come over right then or her to come over here to see me."

"Day after your graduation."

"Yeah."

"A day after."

"Sharon, I know. That's what I thought."

"A damn day after." She was stuck on the idea, even if it only remotely represented her true feelings. "I'm sorry, I'm supposed to be positive and never say a bad thing about her, so I think I should quit here and go somewhere for a while."

She took her keys on her way back out but left everything else as it were.

"Sharon!"

"We'll talk later, I promise."

It barely registered with her how she got from the apartment to sitting in her car. All she could think about was the other Sharon and her being a day too late. She needed to stop the loop, by any means necessary. If she wasn't totally honest with herself, she might have been a little surprised to realize who she had called.

"I'm in a rotten mood, but I could use a friend," she started the conversation.

"Way to sell it," Andy answered before realizing she might not be in a mood where even the slightest hint of humour could be appreciated. He tempered his reply. "Sharon, of course."

"Where can you meet me?"

"Um, right now?"

"If you can... Oh, I didn't think. Of course you have something better to do, don't worry about me. I can manage. Promise."

"I don't. It's just that I can't leave until I can make some arrangements."

His nearly evasive tone made a few dry chuckles escape from her. "Where are you, in jail? Do you need me to come and flash my badge?"

"I'd pay to see that, but no. Let's put a pin on it, though. Taking care of a neighbour's dog and need a sitter if I leave. That is, if I want anything to be in roughly the same condition it is right now."

"Oh."

"Do you —"

"Would you —" She paused to wait for him to finish, but he needed a little prompting. "No no, go ahead."

"I was thinking, if you don't mind the dog, just come on over? I have food, I have seats. Saves a lot of trouble finding a place to go." He hazarded a lighter attempt at persuasion. "Plus the dress code is very relaxed."

She looked down at her jeans, knit t-shirt and the cardigan. Maybe not a bad point. "If you're sure."

"Wouldn't ask if I wasn't. But I remind you, a dog."

"Who by the sounds of it could use a little rules enforcement."

She could hear the grin in his voice as he answered, "Oh, now this is going to be good."

-x-

He opened the door on her first, a little hesitant, knock. Stepping aside, he reached for a glass standing on a small table behind him and handed it to her. Neither had said a word before she took a sip of the offered drink.

She was surprised. "Wine?"

He started for what she assumed was his kitchen, nodding.

"Should I — Should you — I mean if — You know?"

"By hazarding a guess: yes, yes, yes, no." He turned around to see her frowning at her glass. "Or you should come out with it and ask complete questions."

"Well... It's wine."

"That it is."

"Should it — You shouldn't have it."

"Why not? I'm not the one drinking it."

"And that's fine?"

"Of course." He gestured her to move towards the kitchen. "Look, it's great that you care, but it's not a problem. I wouldn't have bought it or offered if it was. So drink up, sounded like you needed it." When she still didn't look happy about it, he told her, "If it makes you uncomfortable, don't drink it. But I'll have you know, I'm giving you two, max. So not trying to get you drunk."

"Sounds like not letting me get drunk."

"Well, that too. One thing I really miss about drinking is not realizing how annoying drunk people are."

"Thank you," she remarked a bit peeved, still remembering the number of glasses she had emptied at his daughter's wedding. This one she placed on the kitchen bar, half empty. "Where's the canine terror? Or were you greatly exaggerating his wildness?"

"Locked in the guest bedroom, destroying everything inside. You let him out, you deal with him."

"Where's the lead?"

He threw it at her and she made a good catch against her chest.

"This his food?" She pointed at a plastic box tucked against the kitchen wall beside the doorway.

"Yeah." He watched her crouch down, open the lid and fill her pockets with kibbles.

"And his name?"

"Damon. Doubt he knows it."

She nodded and made to leave before faltering.

"Second door on the left."

She nodded again and left his sight line.

Ten minutes later she walked back to the kitchen, the dog heeling. She sat down on a bar stool, dropping the lead on the one next to it, and the dog laid down beside her feet. Andy turned away from the stove with raised eyebrows.

"Not even gonna ask."

"Please do, since you are having problems with him."

"Well, after tomorrow morning they are not my problems anymore." He turned to stir something before continuing, "He's going back to his owner, couldn't get a kennel for him on short notice. Damon's new with him, a rescue. Supposed to be trained, but is actually a menace. They haven't gotten their act together yet."

She nodded emptying the last of her wine. Taking her glass, she pushed herself up from the stool and walked to the sink in order to rinse it. Damon took to his feet and tried to follow wagging his tail. She only looked at him and said a firm 'no', making the dog lay back down. After placing the rinsed wine glass on the worktop next to the sink, she raised herself on her toes, opened an overheard cupboard and took out a straight glass, filling it from the water carafe sitting next to the fridge. Andy glanced at her amused and she just leaned the small of her back against the edge of the counter, watching him cook in silence.

The silence was broken a minute later by scrambling of paws as Damon got back up yawning. Their eyes followed him leaving.

When Sharon didn't do anything to stop the dog, Andy returned to his pots. "He breaks it, you pay it."

She hummed and saw the dog going for its bed and after a couple of turns setting down.  
With a victorious smirk she caught Andy's eyes.

"So, how'd you price your expectations? Do I need to get my check book out or will some change do?"

"I hate you."

"So you've told me, several times."

He rested the turner he held in his hand against the pan's edge. "You know I don't mean it."

Her eyes drifted towards the ceiling in tired disbelief. "Andy. It's alright to joke with me."

"If I had two braincells communicating I wouldn't have meant it back then either."

She lightly touched his elbow with her fingers. "Let it go. We can't change the past and it's not our relationship anymore." when he met her eyes, her lips quirked and she tilted her head. "We can get ourselves into trouble just fine these days, no need to drudge up help from the past."

He chuckled. Yeah, that was sadly true.

"So now that you've taken care of my problem, how about me taking care of yours?" he asked.

"You can't." She folded her arms and shook her hair behind her shoulders. "Do you mind if we rather ignored it completely tonight?"

"If you want." He wasn't at all sure it was what he wanted or should do. "Help me with this and we'll take the beast out while it's in the oven."

She stepped next to him, checking over the tools he had laid out. Looked like lasagna. She returned to wash her hands and returned to his side, starting to prepare the casserole. They worked in unison, with no need for words. He handed her the pots in the order he wanted them layered and she made smooth work of it.

He placed the casserole in the oven and tried ushering her out to the living room. Instead of complying, she stepped aside and got the lead for the dog. He shook his head. It had totally slipped his mind. The dog however was instantly on the same page with her.

Since he had been wearing only a t-shirt, he went to get a leather jacket from his closet, Sharon staying behind to take a few kibbles and finally snapping the lead on Damon's collar.

On his return, she saw him snap his gun to his belt. She paused mid-movement.

"Should I be worried?"

He searched for what she might mean, only then realising what he had just done. "Oh that, no. Just a habit. Always carry a wallet, keys, badge and gun."

"I see." She refrained from bringing up the flaws in that habit, some of which were eternally preserved in his FI file.

Stepping outside she wondered briefly if she should get a jacket from her car, but thought better of risking the chill instead of wearing an LAPD jacket off-duty. He closed the door trying to take the lead from her hands. She absolutely refused to give it up.

"The only murder victim around here that I know of was in fact found right in this house, so you're safe."

They walked on in silence, him staring straight ahead with a look of seriousness. His change of mood intrigued her.

"Not going to offer any more details?"

"No."

"Is it because it was a bossy brunette walking a dog?"

"No."

One word answers, what was that?

She glared at him. "Then why not?"

"Because I'm sure you still have FID friends on speed dial," he said laconically.

She stopped dumbfounded. He watched with interest as her groan turned into a melodious hum. "Why do you keep doing that! I hate knowing these things. Tell me, when will you stop?"

"When you stop reacting so adorably."

Suddenly checking the road for on-coming traffic seemed very important.

"If it helps you at all, I didn't kill her. Wasn't even home. And she was dead when she was brought here."

"Please stop, I don't want to hear the story."

"Okay. But you did insist." His lips curved into a devious smile, however he knew the key to perfect delivery was in the pause. After a few yards following the dog, he tilted his head towards her in conspiratcy. "Hey, next time you see Agent Howard, whisper him 'skybox tickets'."

Grabbing his arm she hid her face in the shoulder of his leather jacket. With his soft laugh ringing in her ears, she moaned barely comprehensibly, "Oh God, shut up."

-x-

He woke to a white ceiling. For a second he wondered why, until he heard the knock on the door. He stumbled up from his bed (for that much seemed familiar) only noticing he had slept in his clothes.

The knock sounded again, this reprisal a bit more urgent.

He opened the door to see his neighbour, looking too chipper for the hour.

"Where's the fourlegged hurricane?" was his only verbal greeting, a nod having taken care of the preceding formalities.

"Huh?"

"The dogmeister. You locked it somewhere?"

"I don't..."

His neighbour ignored the less than informative answers, walking straight to the living room. A few steps in, he paused, turning to Andy.

"You always make women sleep on the couch?"

Andy was a bit taken aback, until he remembered Sharon coming over last night (he had discerned by the amount of the light outside as well as his neighbour's being there that it was indeed the next morning). Closing the door, he studied her form, her legs covered with an afghan that looked like it was kicked down a couple of times, most of her chest and shoulders obscured with a large black dog resting his snout under her ear, her hand lightly draped around the dog's middle. The image woke his brain up somewhat.

"What do you think? She was exhausted, refused to move."

"Right." He turned his attention to the dog. "Okay boy, let's get going." The dog looked his owner with boredom, better categorized as 'do I have to'. "I know, I'd rather stay right there as well." He turned to Andy. "You wanna wake her up or what do you suggest we do?"

Andy looked at Sharon, still totally oblivious to the world. She looked like she needed the extra how many minutes it was going to be. "Damon, here," he tried emulating the tones Sharon had used. The dog straightened his legs letting Sharon's hand drop against her side and trotted to sit next to Andy.

"Nice trick, sir. You spent all day yesterday teaching that?"

"No, it was her." He hooked a thumb at the direction of the couch. "Ten minutes to train the dog, twenty to train me."

"She works with animals?"

Andy chuckled. "You could say that. A cop. Natural authority."

The threesome moved to the kitchen and started gathering Damon's stuff.

"So how much did he destroy this time? Gently, my bank manager might have a heart attack."

"Nothing. Some magazines and the like, but nothing needing replacing."

"Her work?"

"Yeah."

"That's a miracle worker right there. Makes me want to wake her up to tell me her secrets. Or better yet, move in with us."

"Short commands, mean what you say and say what you mean. Reward good behaviour and ignore bad. Be consistent. Like with people."

"That easy?"

Andy shrugged. "For her maybe."

-x-

Shutting the door on his neighbour and the dog, Andy went to check on the time. Six thirty. He had no idea how long she would need for getting ready, but was guessing waking her up now would be better than doing it later and making her panic.

He approached the couch and tried waking her by saying her name. Nothing. He crouched down next to her sleeping form, tentatively shaking her shoulder again and called her name.

Nothing.

He tried the 'you're late for school' trick, adapted to police officers.

"Your phone's flashing."

It probably was, but he didn't see it right then.

Instead he was waiting with her glasses in hand for her eyes to open. Her eyelids fluttered for a moment before she tucked her hands tighter under her cheek, a slight curve of smile building on her lips. Waking however, didn't seem high on her list of priorities.

He rather she could keep slumbering, or at least wading between sleep and semi-awakeness on his couch for the whole day, but no such luck. Her reactions made him smile.

"I thought you told me you were a light sleeper."

"When did I tell you that?" she mumbled, still not fully opening her eyes.

"When I... Never mind." He didn't want to revisit that particular conversation, even if she was still too sleepy to fight. He conveniently skipped over the fact that it was him who had flown off the handle first. They hadn't really talked about it since, just left it where it lay: she had been evasive, not at all willing to even skirt the issue.

"Come on Sharon, I need you to wake up before an irate Taylor calls you. I know you'll only blame that on me."

The mention of Taylor made her eyes snap open and all the relaxed suppleness in her muscles disappear. It took her only a second to prop herself into sitting against the cushions, feet squarely on the floor. She snatched her glasses from his hand and slid them on.

"What day it is?" As she asked, she looked around him, seeing the light filtering in the room. "Monday morning. Oh no."

"It's still early, no need to panic."

She shook her shoulders from side to side, easing a kink in her neck.

"I fed you and it was lights out. I asked if you wanted to use the guest room but you told me to 'sod it'."

"I did?"

"Yeah, in so many words. I'm not ashamed to say I laughed at you," he admitted, now only grinning at her.

"Planned to try again later, but I fell asleep too."

"Where's the dog?"

"His owner picked him up."

"Oh. Was he good after I fell asleep?"

"Yeah. Actually found him sleeping with you on the couch this morning. All snuggled up." Standing up, he patted her knee. "Come on, breakfast in ten. There's a new toothbrush in the medicine cabin, clean towels on the nail marked 'guest', if you want to freshen up first."

"I need to go." Her tone told him she wasn't listening, so he grabbed her forearms and waited for her eyes.

"I'm not letting you leave without breakfast."

"I need to get home, Rusty's going to be frantic! No, that's not enough, he's going to be livid."

"All the more reason for you to eat before meeting him. He knows where you were and he'll understand." He watched her become suddenly very engrossed in picking invisible lint from her shirt. Or maybe there was actual doghair. "He does know where you are?"

"Well, not exactly."

He sat next to her on the couch. "Sharon, either he does or doesn't. What did you tell him?"

"Nothing. I told him I needed to get away and would be back soon."

Didn't seem like an usual occurrence with her. He assumed they had fought. "What happened?"

She turned her shoulders away from him and stared at the far wall. He waited until the last shreds of patience. When his patience failed, he was happy to note nothing erupted from his mouth. Instead, he tenderly coaxed her to turn back around by squeezing her biceps. It only elicited a hasty wiping of her eyes under the rims of her glasses. He observed she was disturbingly practised at the gesture.

"You know, I'm pretty good at listening," he tried.

"Sharon's back," she let out so low he wasn't really registering. "I don't know how someone can do that."

She wasn't making much sense to him, but he assumed this was one of those things that needed to unravel from the easiest point of entry, so he let her start wherever she felt comfortable. There was time for questions later. He only inched a little closer.

"Biggest day of his life and a day late." She attempted a hollow laughter. "I wish she stayed away," she admitted and turned to face him. "I don't care about me in this, I don't care about her, but Rusty loves her. The idea of her. She's killing him and I can't help him, I can't say anything." She wiped her eyes again and bowed her head. "I wish love didn't exist. It's only there to hurt you."

He had no idea if he should say anything, and if, what, should he argue, agree or console? When in doubt, comfort. He placed one hand between her shoulder blades in an effort to let her know it was okay to not accept. She kept stock-still as he circled both of his arms around her back and pulled her to lean in closer. As if by default, she rested her cheek on his shoulder.

"I don't mean to sound selfish, I am honestly upset for him, not for us and not for me. I don't matter at all." He kept expecting her voice to sound blubbery, but she kept surprising him with clear-cut enunciation. "I can't say I don't have expectations and — but this was never about me. And somehow, intellectually on some level, I think his mother has no bearing on what we are. This hasn't cost me anything, but..."

"It has potential," he voiced the easy half of what she didn't want to admit out loud.

He felt her nod. The way her fingers started to idly play with the seams of his shirt first made him startle, then want to squirm.

"What if she's not safe to meet? Safe for him to be with? If she needs to be reported? I'm tied to the codes." Sighing slowly, she whispered, "I can't take another parent away from another child." Her voice wavered a bit. "I can't be that person again."

"Hey, you will do the right thing, I have no doubt. But if you need it, I will be that person for you."

She nodded almost imperceptibly again, only the miniscule movement of his shirt gave it away.

He waited for her to say something more, but she didn't. She only leaned against his shoulder, her fingers continuing to play with the seams of his t-shirt. He had to distract himself from that. Or shove her away. Remind her about work. Yes, that would be it. He'd open his mouth in two minutes if she didn't stop.

Two minutes.

She was very good at crying quietly, he mused. Then again his shirt wasn't feeling moist, so maybe she was very good at not crying.

"I'm afraid you're going to be late," he said to her.

She responded by pulling away and giving him a watery smile. "You too. Tell the guys I'm doing a deli run, maybe they won't mind as much then."

Instantly he started solving a conundrum: how to bring that up so that Provenza would keep his nosing to himself. Probably a little misdirection was needed. He could plan after she was happily out of the door, fed and all.

She cleared her throat, straightened her shirt, ran her fingers through her hair and wiped her eyes once more.

He stood up. "Come on, breakfast awaits. Egg white omelets, toast and fruit salad. Didn't know what you wanted, but that's what you're eating if you want out."

When she made no move, he gestured in the direction of the kitchen with a sharp nod, emphasizing the gesture with pointing a finger at her and then the doorway. She conceded by standing up.

"I'm only wondering what you would do if I went for that door right now."

His voice was affectedly stern. "Try it and you'll find out."

She responded with head tilted in mock concern. "Shouldn't it be 'try it and we'll find out'? Planning's not your strong suit."

"I should just throw your ass out on the street."

Her laughter receding to the direction of the bathroom was music to his ears. "And that's how you joke with me," she shot back before closing the door.

-x-

It took her close to twenty minutes to return to a generous breakfast spread. He tried to be conservative when plating for her, but judging by the amount of poking she was doing in lieu of eating, he hadn't succeeded.

"That bad?"

She dropped the fork. "Not at all, I'm just not much of an eater in the morning."

He quirked an eyebrow.

"I'm not. Less than normal today, Rusty's never going to forgive this," she sighed fiddling with a napkin.

"He will. But Taylor's never going to forgive you being late."

"Oh but he will." She ended the statement with pursed lips.

"Nice to know you still have faith in the system, but you might have forgotten I'm the one with an understanding boss, yours is anything but."

"Don't bank on it. I'll tell you a secret, there's two ways to get Taylor very understanding. One, save him money. Two, give him good publicity."

"Which one did you do?"

"Both. You seriously think I don't need Taylor on my side today?" She stood up taking the dishes to the sink and started washing them. "He was very happy to hear I'd like to take a free morning instead of overtime pay." She turned to smirk over her shoulder. "And there's a meeting I'll miss, giving him the opportunity to grab all the glory he can. So I'm in no hurry."

"A more evil person would think you planned that."

She chuckled putting the last plate in the washer. "Well I might have spent five minutes strategizing. Another three thanking the fates."

He followed her to the living room where she wrapped herself in her cardigan and patted through her pockets.

"You've got everything?"

She nodded. "I'll see you at the office."

She doesn't even think about it but lightly brushes a kiss on his cheek as a thank you, as a goodbye, as a good morning.

* * *

**A/N2:** _I think my (post-)s2.5 additions are showing. ;) One long-ass ch all in all, hope it wasn't too bad. This is what I get for cutting stuff earlier.  
_


	19. Chapter 19: The Advice

**Chapter 19: The Advice**

Rusty had remarked in one of their little conversations about her dating that her using the marriage excuse was a bit ridiculous. Like she didn't even wear the ring. Never even mentioned Jack. What he was clearly saying by explicitly not saying it, was that her marriage was, and had been, a sham.

She had explained that she never wore the ring, not even when they were still happily together. His reaction could only be categorized as disbelief. "Cops don't wear rings," she had argued. He had brought up Sanchez, Tao, even Taylor and Andy's AA ring. To her those were totally different things; the women didn't wear rings. He had one word to say off-hand: Brenda.

"Sharon, this is starting to sound like a lie," he had added to prompt her efforts of offering explanations. She told him how it was about keeping yourself safe, hiding your weaknesses. "I'm not like Brenda, I can't be someone else in an interview. I can only be more or less me," she finished meekly. He knew of her reputation and wondered what did it matter if someone noticed she was married. It wasn't like she couldn't come up with a smart, intimidating, retort.

She admitted it was because it was more often 'you married, got kids?' and he knew how that was with her. No one could ever believe her lie and admission would never lead to anything good for her. She had closed the discussion with telling him it was a habit now.

A habit she never would have been able to break, for she omitted the little detail of her selling the ring years and years ago. To Jack she had maintained a fiction of losing it on a case (for at that point in their marriage he rarely paid any mind to things she did or had been doing), but the truth was, she just hadn't wanted to see the flashy thing anymore. In the presence of her parents she always wore another ring as a disguise and they were too polite to notice the difference.

A plan she never really thought through. It was twice as hard to admit she had failed, failed spectacularly and a long time ago. Hard to tell Jack she didn't want his ring anymore. In fact he refused to believe it for years. She was fairly sure he still hadn't quite accepted it. He had always been more set in the thought that marriage was forever.

So he kept on coming and going, wearing the rings, flaunting them, reminding her she should stay true to things she had promised in front of a God she more than sometimes doubted existed. And she was weak. She was weak to his charm, weakened by isolation, weak in her convictions. It was easy to give him chances, easy to believe in his dreams, easy to listen to the promises he whispered in her ear.

She was a little afraid of lying, but still kept telling him she loved him, even when she wasn't feeling it. Good thing that she was very good at winning debates, even with herself, thus convincing herself loving him was the truth over and over again. Problems, when she couldn't convince herself they weren't having any, she never brought up on her own. He could be fun for the two or six days he stayed home, no need to ruin the hours for both of them.

That only made him take her even less seriously. In his mind she was always moody, PMSing, plain tired, projecting or frustrated with work when she was talking about the absolute truth of their relationship.

However, she recognised her failings. She vehemently advocated for truth in relationships. She taught her kids to be bold and speak their minds. With Rusty she had encouraged him to be frank with Kris and avoid confusion and stress for both of them. There was no way keeping quiet or putting up a front in their relationship wouldn't end up having a worse outcome than honest, if a little hurtful, truth. No, always have the respect and courage to say what you feel.

Now if she could just get herself to take her own advice for once.

* * *

**A/N: **_It's a beautiful feeling when your source material decides to compliment your purposes. Couldn't resist incorporating the Rusty angle. Fortuitous coincidences aside, not really happy about the way this portrays the main theme._


	20. Chapter 20: Wellington

**Chapter 20: Wellington**

She was feeling distinctly like a walk of shame. It wasn't the first time she got back wearing the clothes from the day before since Rusty had been living with her, not even since the start of the year. Probably not even the since Rusty's birthday. But this was so inherently different.

She had hardly stepped inside the door when she was met with a scowl from Rusty. He was breakfasting and looking every bit the abandoned kid he was. Great.

"Nice to know your 'a while' is thirteen hours and forty seven minutes," he remarked in lieu of a greeting.

"I did text you I was coming."

"Yes, you did. Twelve hours and thirty eight minutes into your little adventure."

"I'm sorry Rusty, I —"

"Save your feels. I don't care." He rose from his seat and took his dishes to the sink. His turned back was the emotional slap she had been waiting for.

"I made a mistake, and I do apologize."

"Don't bother. I should have known now that I'm eighteen and out of school this is how it's going to turn out."

The words to answer that didn't exist. Denying it was futile, the evidence to the affirmative standing right before his eyes. She hesitated lingering at the edge of the den. Ignoring it wasn't an option. Talking about it wasn't an option. Waiting it out wasn't an option.

She was on the verge of just giving up and going for a shower when Rusty tried to get past her on his way to his room. Her hand made a quick decision, shooting out to rest on his arm in an effort to stop him. He stopped, if only for the surprise. She didn't care for the reasons, she needed to catch his eyes and say something, anything.

"If you can't allow the people in your life to make mistakes or accept their apologies, you are going to have a sorry life."

"Yeah? Well how is the understanding attitude working out for you? Tell me, how's that husband of yours?"

Her hand still lingering in the air, she was too stunned to even realize he had gone, already in his room. He had looked straight in her eyes and said that. No heat of an argument, just pure... malice, she was tempted to call it. There was no doubt she had hurt him first, but it still stung to have him lash out like that.

In the same resignation she was feeling but a moment ago, she headed for her bedroom to start preparing for the day. It was going to be a long, emotionally exhausting, distracted day. Luckily she could get a breather in the familiar solacing surroundings of her room.

Seeing the dresses lying on her bed, waiting for her to hang them back in her closet, she immediately flashed back to the start of the weekend. On Friday, everything had been so clear, so straight-forward. Saturday morning she had been selecting a dress that would be both right for the event and herself: something nice to make her look nice, something to make people look twice but not to make Rusty think twice.

It was all downhill from there.

On Saturday the dress she had chosen had felt fine all the way to the beach. There it had made a certain someone to look twice, apparently making him to forget to think twice. And she hadn't minded, she hadn't told him no in any point. Not caring had been nice, but it all resulted in further problems and they had barely started to get over the last ones they had.

On Sunday she had been still feeling the buzz, getting the dresses on her bed to wait for later when she wasn't feeling so zippy she needed to get out. Getting back in was only the reason to get back out and fast. She had ran to him, acted like his wife while being someone else's, finally transgressing on his solitude by commandeering his couch.

Monday, today, was the worst. She had let down someone who never should be let down. She had woken up in a strange house with a man she should treat better, who had been nothing but nice to her, whom she had secretly and not so secretly used without thinking twice. She made herself cry, she deserved any and all punishment she got.

What it all came down to, was her damn feelings she couldn't control. Selfishly loving a boy she had no right to love was against all teachings. Having a crush on a friend was so high school. Her behaviour in said situation, on the other hand, was decidedly junior high.

If she wasn't feeling all cried out, she would have taken a little more time in the shower.

No point, facing the Monday with a worse than normal case of the Monday blues was all and everything she could do.

They had planned on Rusty going car shopping with a friend in the afternoon. Of course he wouldn't have actually bought anything, just looked at the options and what he might like. The original plan was for them to see a movie, but he had been too excited about the very real prospect of getting a car and soon. She didn't know if he was still going or if he would appreciate a ride.

Only way to know was to ask, and that was exactly what she did when she was all dressed and ready to face the team.

She tried to put on a front of her usual take-charge impatience even if she was sure he saw right through it. She was tired of being, of seeming, unsure.

"You coming with me or sulking? I'm taking lunch to the team, you can catch that ride, help out, and eat with us. But it's either leaving right now or sulking, I haven't time for both."

"Fine," he said getting up.

The reason she used the front was because it worked so damn often.

-x-

She regretted taking Rusty with her anywhere public the instant she set her foot in the deli. His storm cloud disposition was only interrupted by sniped comments, most of which she wouldn't have let slide on a normal day. On this day she didn't dare to respond, to correct or any way provoke any further words. When he argued over what Andy did and did not like, she conceded he knew his tastes better and let him get whatever it was, though she knew without a doubt that wasn't what Andy wanted. When he tried to argue over Buzz's lunch, she just gave up and let him handle the whole order, even her own. For all she knew, he would order himself a fifty dollar dish of lobster bisque only to end up refusing to eat it just in order to goad her. Probably even accuse her of not feeding a poor mistreated foster kid. She closed her eyes for a minute after sitting down at a table. One more place to cross off from places to go for the foreseeable future.

His manners or mood hardly improved from the wait or the ride to the office. Normally he carried at least half of the bags without asking, today he needed to be called back only to take the last one Sharon couldn't possibly manage. When they arrived up and she needed to grab her key card, he was practically offended to be handed a second bag. He didn't wait for her, making her hold the door open with one foot.

Coming across Andy in the corridor just outside Major Crimes, his greeting was none-existent.

"There." He pushed the take away bags in Andy's hands without a pause.

"Hey, your comedy routine back? What's the problem?" Andy called after him, a note of laughter in his voice.

"Ask Sharon. I'm going over there and do nothing," he pointed in the direction of what used to be his cubicle.

Andy turned to see her rounding the corner. "What's up with the kid?"

"He's a teenager. We had words," she answered like it was any normal Monday.

He glanced around for any ears that shouldn't hear. For extra security he leaned closer to her and lowered his voice. "He didn't let you explain? Or was it the explanation?"

"We have lunch and work to do," she brushed past him without any acknowledgement.

-x-

He had volunteered to bring Rusty's lunch to him. It had taken far more time than usual to sort out the order, the selection best described as weird. Finally giving up on getting any sense of it, Andy had opted for the 'first come, first served' method of appropriation. Worked out quite well until it was Provenza's turn to pick between three healthy options. Andy could have sworn a bumblebee was stuck in his ear, so good was his partner's skills at coming up with things to grumble about. Poor Sharon, the lunch was not really the peace offering she had imagined. Then again, that might be what you get for forcing a pack of old dogs to try out new grubs, he mused.

Rusty was presented with a lean club sandwich with vegetable chips. He raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Someone had clearly pinched his lunch.

"So what did she do to get you act like a brat again? No cereal at breakfast?" Andy asked in order to start the conversation.

"No Sharon at breakfast. She went out last night, only got back to change clothes before running out of the door again." Rusty took a big bite out of the sandwich, mulling over his thoughts. "I thought she was different, not like... Not just going AWOL on me."

"You have to give her a bit of slack, it wasn't her fault."

"How would you know? She didn't even bother answering her phone."

"Ah. She didn't tell you? She was at mine." Andy wasn't sure if it was his place to tell, but it was out now. Another thing he wasn't sure about, was the look Rusty was giving him. Was that... shock? "Fell asleep on the couch. Completely exhausted. Didn't know she hadn't told you, so never thought to call."

"Right."

"She was in a pretty bad shape."

"Yeah? Well she should have called." He tried some of the chips. The tawny ones were horrible. "And she's going out today too." He studied the man in front of him from head to toe. "But I guess you knew that already."

Andy completely ignored the two latter comments. Not his place to say anything. "When you hurt, you don't always think. Or did you think to call her when you ran away?" He stared at the boy until the look on his face turned from haughty to sheepish. "Yeah, didn't think so." He tried to soften his approach by losing the confrontational stance and the sneer, to get the boy to listen and agree. "She's doing the best she can, which is a damn lot more than most people even dream to do. So grow up and show some appreciation."

"Hard to do it when she's out dating every night."

He gave up on trying to change the boy's mind right there, but by the way he concentrated on his food, he was sure he had gotten through to him. It was about planting the seed.

Planting the seed was exactly what Rusty had done, Andy mused while walking to the break room. Sharon dating every night? She was seeing other guys? Of course she was. It was not like they were dating or anything. She had shot him down the only time he had mentioned even the word. Still, it was him she had wanted to see yesterday, him she spent the morning with baring her soul.

Of course, she never really did that. Not really. It was always bits and pieces, and often he thought she was lying. Well, not maybe lying-lying, more like misrepresenting.

But he had thought that at least after the weekend they were... Apparently not. She was just being nice.

But what was that kiss this morning? And that playing with his shirt!

Now that could have been a nervous habit, nothing more. But the kiss deserved an explanation. After all, he had thought... And she didn't seem to be cavalier with affection. Though she had said she wished love didn't exist. It was just upset ramblings, wasn't it?

Alright, she had wanted to see him yesterday.

Thinking back, she had said she needed 'a friend'. He could be her second choice, or fifth or the sixth, and he wouldn't know. A lover (or what should he call the man? 'Boyfriend' seemed juvenile, not in her league) probably would ask too many questions, not let her slip out of any confrontation of her feelings like he had done so readily. Or if she was... cavalier with her relationships, a lover might not care at all.

Maybe they were just friends and he had been too much obsessed by her recently. A guilty conscience playing tricks on him, the attraction of the new just too powerful. Their distance always too acutely present: the lack of personal details shared, practically no talking of feelings, physical contact kept to a minimum, always meeting somewhere public and often by near accident.

If that was it, she just needed to stop touching him, sitting too close and allowing him to do stupid things like walking on the beach with his arm around her waist. Those were clearly outside the parameters they should be working with.

She should give in or give up. Give in to the more than friendship or give up everything but the random off-duty dinners.

Yeah, that was what he should say to her, he decided just as Sharon entered. Seeing him, she smiled freely, almost like on Saturday. He couldn't relate to that because of the things he had been going through in his head and just stared at her.

She walked closer, stopping a few steps away from, the distance completely normal before saying anything.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Yeah?"

"I was just wondering if —"

"Oh, before I forget, I had a talk with Rusty. Told him to give you some consideration."

She pursed her lips and crossed her arms in very much the same way she used to do before telling him how close to insubordination and discharging he was walking this time. "That was none of your concern."

Who was she drawing these lines after again seeking him out, smiling all prettily?

"I hate the way you play me!" he burst forth.

"I? Play you?" Her face was stunned, her arms releasing their tight placement against her body. "I'm not sure I know what you mean."

He wanted to yell her some more but took the instinct back at seeing the way she tried and failed to get a grasp on said game. Very nicely played, Sharon, very nicely, again. He should let her catch up, or at clue her in, before jumping in the middle of things. Yeah, nice show of his temper, again.

He huffed, turned a full three sixty while combing his hair.

"I just can't understand you. Either you are playing a game or you don't know what you are doing, but I can't keep up," he tried to say it more measuredly, more clearly.

"Andy, I assure you I'm not doing anything." As she was saying it, softly, she placed the palm of her hand on his chest, took a step forward and let her whole forearm rest on his body.

He looked at the hand like it was poisonous.

"And there you go again. I'm sorry, we can't have this conversation right now." He took two quick steps away from her, leaving her hand hang in mid-air.

"Andy!"

"We'll continue. Later."

He stormed out of the break room, face predicting a thunder. Flippin' woman.

The force of his exit carried him almost straight into Provenza going for a refill.

"What's gotten the bee in your bonnet now?" He looked from his friend to inside the break room, seeing their Captain.

"She's being so difficult!"

Ah, she was being Sharon, not the Captain, Provenza thought, letting Flynn fly off. Looking at Sharon again, he picked up on the confusion on her face. Oh brother, good-bye calm working environment, welcome high school.

"Idiots, don't know their own minds."

-x-

Getting home after work, she walked straight to her bedroom. The day had been frustrating to say the least. She needed a rest however bad she was at sleeping in the middle of the day. Not bothering to change clothes, only taking off her jacket and blouse, she flopped on the covered bed and took deep breaths.

Waking up to a knock on the door, she was surprised to notice she had actually managed to sleep in her slip and not get cold. She grabbed the first garment with sleeves on her way to the door. It ended up being a satin blouse waiting to go to the cleaner's. She hid the tea stain by leaving the buttons open, only knotting the shirttails at her waist. It was probably Rusty anyway, forgetting his keys.

Turned out it wasn't.

"Andy?"

"Sharon." He mirrored her surprise. "I actually came to have a chat with Rusty."

About what, she was unsure, but suspected it might have something to do with last night. Not her business. "Oh. I'll go and get him. Come in." She started for Rusty's room, to check if he had returned. He stopped her with his words.

"No. Since you're here, I think we should have that talk."

"Alright. Go ahead." She gestured for him to sit down, taking a seat opposite him.

He studied her for a moment, digging for an opening. Nothing seemed to appear, so he jumped right in. "This back-and-forth you keep doing needs to stop."

"I'm not sure I know what you mean," she said again, this time hesitantly. Did he mean what she feared he meant or was it something else? Stick to ignorance and things will clear themselves.

Her hesitation only fuelled his temper which translated into action. Wrong choice, Sharon!

He towered over her, but she had learnt long ago that if you needed the added leverage of height, you'd already lost the power. Intimidation wasn't nearly as effective if not employed from the get-go. "Don't give me that. I know some men want women to act coy, but I don't appreciate it."

She tried staying as level as she could, as calm as ever. "I'm being as forthright as I can with you. If I say I don't know something, it means I don't know."

"Really? You are so oblivious?" Her avoiding his eyes with a bowed head told him everything he needed to know.

"Every time I think you finally loosen up a little, you end up running a mile!"

"That's because you push me!"

"You need to be pushed! Or do you want to spend your life on the sidelines?"

From the corner of an eye she saw Rusty approaching haltingly. She straightened her back and calmed every outward sign of their kindling tempers. Andy kept fuming silently and if Rusty hadn't called her name, he probably would have jumped in and pressed her for an answer, any answer. Forcefully pressed. Instead he flopped down taking a seat.

The sound of leather meeting armrests a little too emphatically alerted Rusty to his presence. Seeing Andy, he halted again. "Oh, Flynn."

"Hey kid," he practically seethed from between his teeth. Sharon gave him a steady glare.

"Go back to your room, it's about work," she told Rusty.

"You sure?" He glanced from Sharon to Andy and then back again.

She nodded and gave him a faint smile. Rusty headed back to his room but couldn't resist glancing back over his shoulder before entering. They just sat still staring each other until they heard the click of his door.

Andy shot up the second the sound reached his ears. "Wow, the all-important LAPD fob-off. Great to know I'm not the only one you use that on."

"What's that supposed to mean?" She had to tilt her head up to make contact with his eyes, but damn it if she was forced to stand up and appear to lose her cool.

"Like you don't know. Every time we talk about important things, work becomes an obstacle. I guess the rank comes with great benefits."

"I don't do that!" she stressed, standing up quite calmly. Her good resolve had lasted what, the whole of half a minute?

"Yes you do. Every time. You only forget about it when it suits you."

"Again, if I do it, it's because you push me! There are lines that shouldn't be crossed!" This time she put the emphasis to her words with sharp gestures.

"Well, it didn't seem to matter that much this morning when you cried in my arms on my damn couch!"

She faltered, opening her mouth but in place of letting words to escape, crossed her arms and turned her back on him.

"I want you to go," she said quietly.

"Why?"

Her words stronger this time, she asked clinically, "Does it matter?"

"Yeah, it kind of does. You can't kick me out and not give me a reason."

"I think I can do whatever I want. But here's a reason: you don't listen and I am tired." She still hadn't looked at him, wouldn't do so now either. "Now, go. Please."

"Alright."

She heard him walk out and shut the door behind him. Shutting it, lightly. She had prepared for a slam, but apparently he wasn't as incensed as she thought.

One thing was sure, she had been right. This friendship was a fallacy. There was no way this was ever going to work. Too much history, too many secrets. Their tempers too incompatible.

Her phone buzzed. She reached out, read the text and on a whim removed his first name. Petty, but that was all she had in her control.

-x-

All through the evening she had gone back over the happenings of the past weekend. With Rusty there was going to be a long road to gain his trust again, but at least in the past hours he had been willing to listen. If she hadn't been miffed at the relationship she had practically single-handedly ruined, she might have given some thanks to Andy's involvement.

Andy. That was a huge mess right there. Things would have been so much easier if she had just stayed in IA or plain quitted. She should have never offered to go to that wedding. She could think of a million things she shouldn't have done in regards to him, but it was all too late.

The weekend had been bad for their relationship, she summed while brushing her teeth. The friendship they claimed to have was rotten to the core, and she was all too willing to trespass on it. She had allowed him too many liberties, taking even more. This thing needed to be nipped in the bud.

The trouble was, it was too late, it was in full bloom now. There needed to be some sort of defining of parameters, some sort of schooling of her all-over-the-place emotions.

She would start in the morning.

Her nice resolve and way to her bedroom was interrupted by a knock on the door. She sighed, being fairly sure who was behind the sound.

She needed to tell him to stop flashing his badge off-duty. That or tell the security downstairs to stop letting everyone with a badge up. Prefereably both. But opening the door (a little too theatrically) she started with the coldest stare she could muster.

His nervous playing with his fingers, lowered lost eyes and the way it took effort to smirk at her melted her cool look instantly. Damn him.

"I'm calm now," he supplicated.

"Okay," she said measuredly while crossing her arms. "I accept." She gave him a playful smirk.

"Can I come in?"

She glanced back into the apartment. "Rusty's asleep."

He didn't know if that was a yes or a no until it became clear she wasn't moving inside. Fair enough.

He settled with watching her watching him. How on Earth did they keep finding themselves in situations like this? Would it ever be easy between them?

Finally he noticed something to comment on. "What's that smell?" He pushed the door a little wider, sniffing inside, almost tripping Sharon backwards. "You've cooked something."

"Squash and blue cheese Wellington." She was too stunned by his sudden proximity to do anything but answer.

"A little vegetarian something. Smells great."

"Nice to know you like it. It was supposed to be your dinner, after all."

"Mine?" he asked taking that step back.

"I was going to ask you for a thank you dinner, but never got the chance."

"Oh. I thought you had a date," he said as nonchalantly as he could. Nonchalance totally faked.

"A date?" Her quizzical look quickly turned into a frown and she held up her palm. "Hold on, let me guess. Rusty saw me putting away dresses."

"He didn't say. Just that you were going out."

"I think I have to have a talk with him about how women over forty with three difficult children and a demanding job aren't exactly prime catches, especially in LA." He noticed how she omitted 'married'. Not a very Christian approach. "He's reading all kinds of things into the clothes I wear."

"What would he like for you to wear then? Jeans and t-shirts?"

"Probably. Come to think of it, that might be the only outfit in which he's never accused me of fishing for male attention."

"I like seeing you in jeans and a t-shirt."

"Never tell him that."

They both smiled but found the toes of their shoes interesting. Well, he did; she suddenly was painfully aware she wasn't wearing any. She bit her lower lip and rubbed her left calf with the toes of her right foot.

She should direct all the attention away from her appearance. The number of conversations she had with men about her clothes was getting absurd without any more additions. There used to be a time when she had thought she had a good dress sense. Apparently that was in the past.

Perhaps it was a time to come clean about the fact that there was something else going on here. It would definitely be a distraction.

Then again, having that conversation in a satin robe in the hallway of her apartment in the middle of the night wasn't the proper setting. She needed to move this along.

"Do you want a packed lunch for tomorrow?"

"Leftovers?"

"I'm hardly going to spend my night cooking you something else. I might be a little sorry you missed dinner but not that sorry."

"Should have known you were just pretending to be nice," he said mock sulking.

She rocked on her feet in a hum of laughter, ending with a hand on his arm.

"So, you want it?" she asked huskily.

He nodded, glancing back and forth from her expectant eyes to her hand on his arm, finally ending up staring her fingers. She read his face and abruptly let go.

"You want me to stop —. I'm sorry, I haven't even thought about it. Sorry," she faltered. "I'm not very good with friendships."

He studied her eyes for a long moment.

"I'm not either, and that's why this thing is such a mess."

* * *

**A/N:** _Shorter chapters? Pfft.  
Thanks for each and every comment, they are the fuel to keep me battling against a totally not working laptop (hoping to get a new one this week; being without one for a month is murder). :)  
To the Guest asking about level of involvement: this is a "how Sharondy could happen" story (spec fic), so taking them further. How much, I'm undecided (cuts to later chs possible). Not really A/U: Ch10 is set after s2, pre-Ch10 this is more episode additions since we don't know what really happened... ;) _


	21. Chapter 21: Wanting

**Chapter 21: Wanting**

She rarely said the words 'I want' anymore. To him, never. She didn't know to miss that until during heated words he had thrown 'what do you want' at her face. Stunned, she found she couldn't answer. She had actively thought about it for a whole week without coming to any certain decisions.

Honestly, most of the time she told him only what she needed. Which wasn't much, to be frank.

But wanting something... That was different.

He always told her what he wanted. It was easy to him, because he had gotten what he wanted all his life. Never did he forget to tell her he wanted her when he was drunk. In the mornings, he always told her he still wanted to love her. Periodically he said he wanted to make things right, to find their future.

She listened to him, but deep down knew that wasn't even what she needed.

It just happened that on April 26th was a colleague's birthday. He didn't want some big do, just bar hopping some night and be done with it. The hopping part of it turned to be a tactical operation in itself with the number of people along for the ride, so after the second change of place, they just resigned to a club with good music and cheap drinks for the night.

Some guy she didn't know, a friend of a friend, of sorts, had kept her company. He was smart, she had thought. Noticing they were holding a conversation about literature at eleven in the evening, in a loud bar with drinks in hand had given her a surreal feeling. Had made her happy.

When at one he had leaned closer and asked if she wanted to get out of there, she had only nodded and dropped from the bar stool she had been sitting on. They told no one they were leaving. The long looks burning her back told they weren't stealthy.

He had held her hand to his car, kissed her lightly on the corner of her lips before opening a door for her.

It should have shocked her, but it didn't.

It wasn't until she was standing in his living room wearing her coat, that she remembered a life outside their discussions. She had turned around to face him and without a preamble told him she was married.

He had been surprised, but not because of what she said. It surprised her to hear the words 'I know'. She herself didn't know anything about him.

Without any reference to anything else, they had talked and drank cocktails into late morning.

After a short stay in his guest bedroom that morning she had an answer to a question she had nearly forgotten.

She had wanted another man. She wanted the husband she had had when first married. She wanted the life she had no right to want now. She wanted to have the opportunity to do things like she had just done without guilt and long looks. She wanted to tell the truth to Jack.

When next having him in a mood to talk seriously (which was quite rare: he wouldn't do that when tired or drunk, when he'd just come home, when the kids were present or when he was getting ready to leave; never after work or at night), she approached the subject frankly and straight on, forgetting to mention why she was bringing this up.

"You asked me what I wanted. Do you seriously want to know?" was her opening question.

"Sharon, of course!"

Their life together had taught her that meant he was hearing her at least until the next shiny thing came to view. Actually listening to what she said was hit-and-miss. She had to say the most important things concisely and not let him interrupt.

"You want to go and stay as you please and I can't do that. I want stability, for the kids and for me. I won't ask you to stay, because I know that's not what you want."

"Sharon, —"

"No. It's alright. We're different people and we can't be tied down to this. I'm not saying we can't have a relationship. I'm just saying it can't be this. I don't want this."

"Then what do you want?"

This time she had an answer.

"I want you to go. And I want the paperwork."

Then she was prepared to want most anything.

She never met the man who talked literature with her again, never really wanted to, but she was grateful to him for teaching her to want again.

* * *

**A/N:** _You know, when I started putting these snippets into chapters, I was so convinced there wouldn't be much Rusty and even less Jack since I don't know how, thus not liking, to write them. I have no idea why this too was a Jack chapter... I blame the section splitting & cutting I did earlier._


	22. Chapter 22: Cryptography

**A/N:** _If you are interested, before I fiddled with the timeline, this was 'the other half' of my story "_Sharon to the Third Degree_". Starts after the second cut. (I can't believe I'd cut Provenza out until Ch22!)  
Jess, sorry, Science triple-major. :) Well okay, double, third is more like Applied Economics and we all know that's just guesswork really._

* * *

**Chapter 22: Cryptography**

"Not now."

Those two words were becoming very familiar to him. She had avoided him a bit recently. Just the right amount not to be noticeable by anyone else. He noticed all right, he noticed quite acutely, quite painfully.

After three days he had called her on it. At first she had tried to wriggle out of the conversation with a laugh and a joke, but he had pressed her for a reason. She had told him it was because of what they had agreed upon that night. He hadn't had a clue, but then her phone had buzzed and she had left him with a "Not now, later". He was beginning to find the comfort in those old friends.

That evening, when she was on her way out of the office, he had approached the issue again. He had placed his fingers on her elbow in an effort to steer her somewhere a bit more private to finish the talk. She had only pointedly looked at his fingers, not making a move. Suddenly he had understood and left it at that, even if he was not happy about the choice she had made.

His fault, though. When she had seen his anxiety at her touch he should have opened his mouth. Of course he hadn't, just stared at her, lost in swirls of interpretations swimming in his head. And then she had said goodnight, shut the door both literally and figuratively.

After a week he had given up on everything. Everything but the wish she would wake up and change her mind. Not that there was anything wrong with the relationship they had. When she wasn't telling him to wait, she was like she had been before... before the Nutcracker, probably. There was a distinct difference in that and what she was after Rusty's birthday.

Professionally there was no difference. They laughed, they argued, sparred and finished each other's thoughts. Well, there was at least that blessing. On a good day he almost forgot their changed relationship. When they had debated a little professional disagreement, little and disagreement being relative terms (it was more like a fundamental difference of an opinion), they had approached the point where they usually agreed to continue over a cup of coffee or lunch. Not this time. She had walked out and emphasized the dismissal with a "Not now."

He was getting intimately acquainted with the pair. But he wasn't giving up. Not now.

-x-

How they had ended up seeing a play together, she wasn't entirely too sure. She distinctly remembered telling herself their so-called friendship shouldn't be tainted any further than it already had been. This was exactly the kind of thing that would present a lot of opportunities for tainting things.

She also distinctly remembered telling him she needed a little space. If he wanted her to step back, he should let her step back. Not that repeated 'not now' was distinctive enough, she admitted. She had told him they should take a little time to re-evaluate their friendship. "You wanna fill out audit forms?" he had asked with a sneer. "If need be," was her curt reply.

Somehow that evolved into a practically mutually made non-decision to see a play neither really wanted to see. Maybe it was his puppydog eyes that made her too eager to compromise, to give second chances from here til heaven. Maybe it was the fact that he wasn't to blame for her shortcomings.

He was so glad she had given into seeing a play. He had been running short on excuses to talk with her. The limbo their relationship was in at the moment seemed endless, vast, depressing, dark. Whatever troubles they had previously, he would take them, ten-fol—, well, not maybe ten-fold, but bigger and better, over whatever they had now without any consideration.

Studying her was a great benefit the darkened theatre offered. He relished in the way her reactions to the stage shone from her face, the little squints at strange turns, the unrestricted glimmer of joy when she found something funny. He was so so glad to note her thrill, the excitement with which she jumped into the story didn't fade when intermission was called. She was expressive and fun, carried conversation easily, just like at his daughter's wedding.

He was a little sorry the play ended and he had to drive her back home. If for nothing else but for the lost opportunities to study her some more.

He was good company, she had somewhat forgotten that. He made her laugh. And he kept quiet during plays, which was a lot more than Jack ever managed. He always started sighing deeply ten minutes in. Then he started concentrating on her, watching her, then touching her, then...

Come to think of it, maybe Jack could be better company at the theatre. All Andy had managed was to stare at her.

This ban on touching was hard. When he offered her a drink, it took real thought to not tap his arm as a thank you. Then again, she had been doing that for... twenty years? Maybe it wouldn't matter, but where was the line? They should have talked about that.

Watching him driving purposefully, fully concentrated on the road, she contemplated the evening. Not bad.

Then she flashed back on the way Jack would have ended the study. It took all her effort not to laugh.

What would he say, if she were to take a leaf out of Jack's book? She was feeling funny this evening. She wanted to be reckless. To hell with consequences, to hell with rules, to hell with appearances! It would only take a few words and after them, there would be no words needed if that was what she wanted.

And if she was truthful with herself, sometimes that was exactly what she wanted after all this time.

But then the Sharon she had tried to perfect over the years was back. She knew she would never do what she had been so vividly toying with, but she could take a step in that direction.

"Would you like to have some coffee?" She hoped that was the universal code for 'come on up, let's not finish the evening yet' without it being the universal code for 'come on up, let's finish the evening in bed'.

"Sure."

The casualness with which he said it made her feel like it had indeed been right on the hope. That or he had an updated list of the codes. After all he had used them last, she was sure. How often in fact? Maybe he was casual because it was just that, a casual occurrence for him.

Suddenly the seat was the most uncomfortable one she had ever sat on. The car was absolutely too close to the parking lot. Their relationship entirely too murky for any kinds of codes.

Was there an universal code for taking back another, or this specific one? She couldn't remember, frantic as she was at trying. Something about being tired maybe, or having a head ache or...?

"Hey, you know the all-night book store just around the block? There's a great coffee shop there, you ever been?"

What? A coffee shop? She was totally thrown.

"Um..."

"They do great cakes too."

She didn't want coffee or cakes. She wanted to talk, to have an honest discussion!

"Yeah? That alright?"

"Sure."

Apparently the codes had changed.

-x-

Provenza was less than happy. His idiot friend insisted on giving him a play-by-play account of his date with the Captain. He had opted for listening, no matter how horrible it was going to get, at least that way his friends mood would be over sooner rather than later.

"Then what?" he asked, his head hanging between his palms. Would this nightmare never end?

"Then what what?"

"After the play ended, what did you do?" he wasn't sure he wanted to know.

"Oh, I drove her home. She asked me if I wanted coffee. We went to this great late night coffee shop, you know the one with the coffee cake?"

What? Hold on. Did he hear what he just said? He raised his head and met the open face of his friend. This needed to be cleared up. "Hold on, you drove her home and then she asked if you wanted coffee?"

"Yeah."

Provenza only stared, mouth practically open. He contemplated whether his friend was an idiot because of the basic fact of his involvement with the woman in question or was he an idiot because of not being more involved with said woman.

"Flynn you idiot."

"What?" Andy was totally lost.

"If you are going to maintain this idiotic crush on her —"

"I don't have a crush on her!"

"— this idiotic crush on her, I hope you would at least man up."

"What do you mean?"

"She asked you if you wanted coffee. At night. In the parking lot of her condo."

"Yeah?"

Provenza went back to staring, this time very pointedly. His friend's face remained totally blank.

"Oh, forget it," he barked before walking away. Andy didn't let him proceed very far.

"Forget what? What? I don't speak meddling-grumpy-old-man."

"Apparently you don't speak hot-for-idiots-Captain either."

Hot for what? Sharon? He was totally lost. Yeah, she was hot, but... It was just coffee, right? She didn't say anything about —. Or maybe she did?

"Are you trying to say that she... No, she didn't. We are friends." Yes, they were just friends. In fact, they were barely even that. She wanted space. (He mentally scoffed at that.) She had asked him for coffee, but not like that.

Then he remembered the sly smile gracing her lips before she had asked it. 'Hot for', 'for', Provenza had said. Oh no. "She did, didn't she?"

"Well at least you didn't make this all into an even bigger mess. Saved her from herself." Yes, that was a positive in Provenza's mind. "With any luck she realized what an idiot you can be and leaves it at that."

He had told her no! Her! No!

"But I didn't mean to tell her..."

"Eh! You better not go and explain!"

"I have to!"

"No, you don't. You will not. She will only get embarrassed and you will only hurt her feelings." When this didn't seem to make those tell-tale signs of Flynn plotting fade, he continued, "No matter what you try to say." Forcefully ending all stupid plannings his friend might be harbouring with a final "Trust me."


	23. Chapter 23: Flowers

**Chapter 23: Flowers**

"Jack, why don't you ever buy me flowers?" she had wondered one evening while making their dinner.

He wasn't even listening, reading something, barely aware of her existence let alone what she was saying. She was debating whether to let it drop (after all she wasn't all that interested, just musing out loud) or ask again.

"Why would I?" he answered as if by default.

"I don't know. Because men buy women flowers?" she retorted a little too sharply.

He drew a deep breath and threw the magazine he was reading aside. "Sharon, what the hell is up with you today?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all." He sighed again. "Honestly. I am just asking."

"So you would want me to buy you flowers, is that it?"

"Yes. No. I don't know." She laughed and turned to him. "Honestly, it was just a question why."

He frowned at her resuming the cooking. "Sharon, if you want me to buy you flowers, you say it. I'm not guessing what you might want at any given moment of our lives."

-x-

At 5.50 pm the next day Jack called to ask which kind of flowers she wanted. Her only response was to repeat the question before hanging up.

-x-

"Sharon!" The bark of his voice was perfectly in sync with the slamming of the front door.

"Keep your voice down, the kids are out playing," she answered calmly from the kitchen.

"Fuck the kids! I want to know what you are playing!"

He launched on a long-winded catalogueing of all her failings as a wife, the most glaring of them all at the moment was being shitty at using a phone. While he was doing that, she folded the laundry and checked on both the pot roast in the oven as well as the kids outside. She went on to walk new sheets into the bedroom, stepping around him where he was blocking the hallway.

"What the hell is the matter with you? Don't just walk away!" He grabbed her forearm but she shook him loose. "First you whine about not getting flowers, then I'm bringing them and you act like an injured princess!" He placed his hands an inch below her shoulders and twisted her around. "You're one hell of a moody bitch to live with, Sharon."

He had accused her of several things during the years, even the past few minutes, but she never thought he meant them. (He mostly didn't.) Thus she was surprised to feel her palm full of needles.

Even years later she continued to maintain she took the two steps back in shock, not the least bit in fear of retaliation.

-x-

Neither of them mentioned that fight again; he forgave her for the slap, she him for a dozen other things, but never got the flowers.

* * *

**A/N: **___This one was hard b/c the many ideas already used on the shows. So Jack again, I just give up._  



	24. Chapter 24: Pope Watching

**A/N:** _Well if you squint just so and wish really hard, there's a reason... Sort of. This ch has timeline issues (see end), sorry. Couldn't let go.  
_

* * *

**Chapter 24: Pope Watching**

Rusty stopped short of the kitchen on his way to get breakfast. Sharon was eating an apple and watching the news, all ready for work.

He took her in from toe to head. "You have a meet the press situation today?"

"No. Why?"

"No reason. Just thought that was your 'I'm Sharon, I'm serious and important and we're having a meeting' outfit."  
She looked down her body not seeing anything out of the ordinary. "It's a black suit with a white blouse."

"It's a boring suit with an even more boring shirt. Like hello nineties boring. Like going to church all chaste boring."

"I am boring." Smiling, she shook her head to the side in a series of little nods. It reminded him of a toned down version of a cheerleader telling how Cyndi's party's going to be awesome. "Besides I'm starting to wonder about this obsession of yours to what I wear. Andy says _–_"

"'Andy says'?" he asked pointedly. Her smile died instantly. "Oh come on!" She started picking up magazines and doing other busywork, completely ignoring him. "What did he say?"

"Nothing."

"Sharon!" he shouted a little louder than necessary, but succeeded in getting her attention.

She straightened and touched her forehead with a thumb and a forefinger of one hand like she was ashamed to admit what she was about to say. "Alright, he said I should just give up and wear jeans and t-shirts all the time."

"I bet he would like that."

"Rusty, I don't think it's appropriate for you to insinuate things about him, or comment on what I wear for that matter. He's a friend to us both and doesn't deserve it."

"I'm betting I'm not saying anything he didn't say." Her ignoring the statement told him a confirming 'no' louder than any words could. His face lit up in a self-satisfied smirk. "See."

"Even though."

He was again getting to the point where he didn't know if he should laugh, sigh or cry at her awkwardness. He opted for the middle one.

To her back he said, "I've said it to you like a zillion times, but here's once more: it's alright, I won't mind. Flynn's a great guy, he likes you and you like him. Why does it have to be anything more difficult than that? And if it's because I like him, I'm saying this too: it's alright if it's not him."

-x-

A meeting at the DA's office had eaten almost all of their morning, as well as made a good start on the afternoon. Driving back with Sanchez, she picked on the hem of her skirt. She dryly noted that Rusty had been right. Maybe subconsciously she really thought this was her 'meeting outfit'.

Another thing meetings out of the office translated easily in her head was making the lunch run. She had always done it with her old team as well, and saw no reason to stop when she (albeit rarely) was in a position to do one. Sanchez went to park the car, she walked in to hand over their order.

Just as she was setting in next to the wall for the wait, as her hand was fishing her phone out of her pocket, she sensed someone coming to stand way too close to her, at least in the relative sparsely populated deli. Turning she came face to face with a man with classically piercing blue eyes. No, not piercing. Not that harsh. Blue like mountain streams. She mentally sighed at the simile.

"Excuse me? Hi. Edward Tremblay," the man offered her his hand, she took it reservedly. Was this a subpoena?

"Sharon Raydor."

"I'm sorry, this is going to sound a little strange, but I have an office near here and I've seen you around often... Finally psyched myself to come over and introduce myself. I was wondering if you would be interested in getting a coffee or something sometime."

"Oh, well _–_"

"And by strange I don't mean that..."

"Of course not."

"The last time I saw you here you had a little teen drama going on, so I didn't dare to come over then."

Ah, the fatal spending the night on Andy's couch incident. Not really Rusty's fault. She felt she needed to explain, like any proud mother, "He's normally a great kid, I assure you. Very smart."

"I'm sure. I'd _–_"

"Captain?"

She twirled around, surprise multiplied all over her face. Sanchez. She clasped her hands together behind her back and started plotting. Should she explain? How much had he heard? What was there to explain? What on Earth was the man's name?

Luckily she didn't have a chance to do anything when the first part of their order was called. Sanchez took the offered bags while she was still trying to grasp for things to say.

"Ma'am?" he tried again, sounding more than a little hesitant.

"I'll be right over. I can take the last batch."

"Yes ma'am."

She waited for him to put some distance between them before turning back around.

"I'm sorry, you were saying?"

"Captain?" His eyes darted to the badge clipped on the waistline of her skirt, normally hidden behind her blazer.

"LAPD?"

"Yes." She was preparing for the inevitable 'never mind'.

"Well, I'm a little relieved." That was new. Weird, but new. He finally looked like someone who knew how to breathe and smiled. "I know it must seem creepy to walk up to hit on someone in the middle of the day, and I do apologize for that, but at least you can run a background check to see I'm all there."

Finally she flashed a true smile, however quick. "Oh no, that would be a waste of city resources. I prefer to find out the old-fashioned way." She caught herself before winking. "After all, I can appreciate a good hands-on investigation."

Well, no wink but embarrasing innuendos. A lukewarm victory.

Luckily he only chuckled.

"Seeing that I offered to be investigated, I think I might appreciate them aswell." She teased her lower lip, slightly flustered. "I hope you call, but if you don't, that's all right."

-x-

The man had shoved her his card and she had accepted without hesitation. Still feeling a little dumbfounded at the sequence of events, there hadn't been much progress in analyzing all of it. The team kept her plenty busy. It wasn't until later, having retreated to her office to wrap things up, that she could really think the thing through. Already she had made up her mind it having been a funny but uplifing encounter. Truthfully, she had been fiddling with the card in her pocket for the whole afternoon. It was sometimes a little difficult to fully repress that smile.

She had been asked out! Just like that! It still made her giggle. The amount of paperwork to go through however didn't. She checked the time and decided she really had to get a move on if she was dreaming of not making it onto overtime. They were racking up plenty lately and Taylor was not happy. An unhappy Taylor correlated to unhappy officers pretty damn quick.

But she had been asked out! Just like that! But what was that about 'hands-on investigations'? Losing your mind, Sharon, totally losing it! Though she wouldn't have minded some hands-on investigations. Shame about the work, but thanks to her lucky stars Sanchez hadn't walked back in. That would have been a scene to see, not to take part in.

And she had been asked out! Just like that! And she had been wearing the outfit Rusty had deemed boring. Ha! That'll show him. Though the outfit did look like she was going to church. Maybe she should open a button on the blouse. Yeah, that didn't look bad. Perhaps she could take Rusty's advice on some things.

Andy knocked the jamb in passing and walked straight in. His entree snapped her from her musings.

"If you come bearing paper, turn around and walk out," sounded from behind a curtain of hair.

"You're in luck, came to collect some."

She nodded, keeping to her reading, promptly forgetting he was even in the room.

He watched her leaning over her desk with her weight supported on her outstretched left hand, her hair cascading over one shoulder, attention completely glued to her papers. Lesser man would have traced the lines of her taut legs all the way down to the toes flexing one black pump to and from her heel. He would never do that. Much.

Though that slit in the black of her skirt against her pale thigh lessened his resolve nicely.

At least he would be stealthy about it, he decided. Though she probably wouldn't even notice no matter how blatant he got, so engrossed was she in a folder lying open in front of her.

He walked closer and stopped at the corner of the desk. There was a stack of closed folders and something colourful on top of them. He reached to see what it was. A perfect cover to get even closer at least.

The colourful thing turned out to be medal ribbons on a plastic ribbon bar. Not many, just five. Few, but good ones. Suddenly her legs had competition for his attention.

"These yours?"

"No, my office doubles as the lost and found to save the city money." Only after that she looked what he was talking about. "Hmm. Yes."

She returned to her papers.

"Do you always keep them here?

Signing something with flourish, again she wasted no mind to answering on the first go.

"Absolutely, I need something to impress people with. Flick out the brass to shut them up." She flipped another folder on the done pile before glancing in his direction with a sigh. "No, I took my uniform to the cleaner's and forgot to remove them last time."

He studied her expression for a while and then the corners of his lips quirked lighting up his eyes.

"You're in a strange mood today."

She shrugged and made a dismissive motion with one hand. "Just ignore it, I'm having a strange kind of a day. What did you want?"

"Oh, nothing really. The statement folder. No hurry."

She nodded and went back to shuffling the mountain of paperwork covering her desk. She was never going to get out of here. He kept stroking her ribbons.

"Why don't you have the Papal visit?" A break. "I mean, you were on the force back then, weren't you?"

She kept skimming through the papers with a barely-conscious 'hm' for an answer.

"So how come you managed to avoid Pope-sitting?"

"Not worthy of such an honor," she mumbled while battling the urge to correct a misspelled 'vehicular' on a report.  
He snorted. "Yeah, right. Too woman for the job?"

"Eighties."

"Off-duty?"

"Benched."

"FID?"

"Insubordination."

"Ha ha. You're funny today."

At that she raised her eyes and squinted at him. "I'm always funny." He shook his head in amusement. She flashed a quick smile and got back to work.

When he realised she was not offering any details, he prodded again.

"Forget the word association, I want to know. Why were you out of it?"

"Trigger happy. Shot someone."

He rolled his eyes. Yep, she certainly was in a mood alright. "So, maternity leave?"

She paused her writing but didn't look up.

"No, I actually shot someone."

He didn't know what to say to that. Luckily he didn't need to come up with anything, she resumed both her writing and talking.

"You guys got to meet the Pope, major event excitement and a nice ribbon to show for it. I got months of trials, depressing therapy and that one." She absentmindedly poked one ribbon with the end of a pen.

He whistled under his breath in appreciation. Big situation to warrant a big commendation. However, something in her voice told him it would be better not to keep to this line of conversation. Besides, if he really wanted to know, there would be a record somewhere.

Andy kept studying the rows of ribbons in his hand. Pretty heavy stuff there. She in the meanwhile sighed, straightened and cradled her forehead in her fingers.

"Sorry, I don't mean to sound flippant about it. It was a messy situation and the only way, at the time, I could see of solving it involved taking a shot at someone. It wasn't ideal, it wasn't good, but it was the best I could do."

"And sometimes your best doesn't turn out to be all that nice," he said, raising his eyes to meet hers. "Even if it's better than the alternative. Yeah, I know it. But knowing that doesn't change anything."

She nodded.

He smoothed the ribbons with his thumb again. "However, in your case, your best was exceptional as always."

"Don't _–_"

"You have the proof right here." He raised the ribbons to face her.

"Still doesn't make it right."

-x-

A couple of sunrises later, tragedy struck in the form of a latino waiter stumbling across Sharon's laptop bag in a Mexican restaurant. Not his fault, just a convergene of bad luck, oil, slippery shoes and hands full of plates. Andy looked horrified only for a few seconds and after Sharon had recovered (well, after he had recovered more like, after all he had been the one to place that laptop case where it was), while she was telling the poor waiter everything was fine, Andy took the unnecessarily long route of checking if her clothes were spared from stains. A task he didn't mind, especially when it came to the red practically skintight top. One more show of bad luck (well, maybe not from his point of view) that she had already unbuttoned her jacket.

They were only meant to stop for a quick lunch on their way from showing particular snippets of recordings to a victim's family and neighbours in an effort to gather some more pieces of information. After the incident with the clumsy waiter (still, not his fault), Sharon had quickly checked the damage (which seemed unfortunately major for the laptop, otherwise none to mention) and told both Andy and the team that they had to make a detour via her apartment in order to get the laptop's details. The team she added, that they would get back in touch before that to summarize the facts their trip had produced. She made another very short and to the point call reporting the incident to someone. Andy didn't know who, since during that part of the event he was getting their order.

Having finished her reports, she slammed the not really powering up laptop shut and leaned down to place it inside the case resting next to her feet.

"Fucking shit."

His fork floated in the air forgotten, his eyes glued to the movement of her hair. Did she...? Or was it in his head? Or was it someone else's voice?

"You swore," he finally said in a way that oozed of question.

She flicked her hair aside. "It's my laptop, isn't it?"

"Of course. But I've never heard you swear before."

"Like I've said, I used to have some manners." She practically made a face at him. "I'm hating this."

To disguise his great effort not to grin wildly, he pushed the untouched plate towards her. "Eat first, hate later."

She felt a lot like sulking as a five year old would but knowing it would make no difference, at least for the better, knowing how good at being irked Andy was, she reluctantly conceded to his suggestion.

Their lunch was a mostly silent one, as was often their habit. She was still seething too much to carry a conversation. It took her all the way to sitting in the car, getting ready to leave to say anything remotely meaningful out of her own volition.

"I'm sorry I can't find the humour in this. Not yet." She laughed wryly before adding, "I'm very bad at things that don't go my way."

"Hey, no one likes distractions and complications." She opened her mouth to refute that, but he continued, "Well, drama queens do and there's awful lot of them around these days."

"I would've gone even closer with that. Teenagers."

"Oh, yeah."

They kept quiet for miles. Finally she broke the silence by musing, "Good thing it wasn't stolen."

"How come?"

She turned to him as if caught by surprise she had actually said anything out loud. Or, with their relationship as it was, that he had listened, that he cared at all, he amended the original thought. Their relationship, friendship or whatever it was, certainly wasn't going her way. Not his, either, if being honest.

"I would've needed to report it to us for investigation. We've got enough work as it is."

He shot her a questioning glance. "Seriously?"

"579.30. Look it up," she said crossing her arms in the manner which always succeeded of reminding him of his first telling-off.

"I don't believe you. I don't think we've ever had to find someone's lost laptop. Except for that one time. And that wasn't an LAPD one."

"I get CC'd on the reports all the time. I can show you sometime, they are such fun."

She turned back to stare out of the side window.

By this moment, his interest was fueled. "Sharon? Are you seriously telling me you spend your days reading how Officer Idiot poured coffee on his laptop?"

"No, I get to read how he was watching Monday Night Football with friends and after tidying up, couldn't locate his laptop anymore." She turned only for long enough to flash him a bemused smirk. "And yes, that is a true story I've read more than twice."

He didn't have a straightaway answer to that. Like, seriously? People did that? She had to read it? "You are not joking, are you?" he finally asked.

She gave a reprisal of the earlier surprise, this time amusedly, smiling stunningly. "Andy! Of course not."

He watched her smile for a moment longer than someone driving a car should. With a shake of his head, he finally summed, "I wouldn't do your job for the world."

"Well, if you can't be a Commander in PSB," she said making a sideways shrug he always found so uncharacteristically endearing.

Now it was his turn to be surprised. "You were in line for a promotion? Are you saying you didn't want this job?"

Realising just what she had said, it took her a few seconds to compare options for distracting him off it. She settled on sternly remarking, "Provenza's not going to hear about this."

"Are you kidding? He's bad enough thinking you underhandedly manoeuvered yourself here, imagine what he would be like after finding out you got the job he wanted as a screw-over."

"Considering I got the promotion offer as a result of one in the first place, I can't help but find a little poetical justice in all of this."

-x-

"I'll make the call down here," Andy said as soon as he parked the car at her building.

"Okay. Come up when you're done. I'll make coffee to go with that lunch." He nodded. "I'll leave the door open," she said preparing to slam this door closed.

"Sharon!" She stopped in question. "You shouldn't go about leaving your door open."

"And why is that? Seriously? Who will know? Who will care?" She smirked. He was still stuck on pre-Christmas. "I'm wearing my gun and it's not like there's been dead bodies at my house."

"Yeah? At this rate you'll have one right here, COD heart attack brought on by a stubborn woman."

"If you're that worried about my security, you better hurry up. The door will be open," she stated effectively ending the discussion, this time actually slamming the car door closed.

He grumbled. It perhaps was out of line to go telling her she was reckless, or better yet, stupid. She really was neither. He just had that sudden pricking sensation somewhere in his mind telling him to step up. In fact, what was that about?

He shook his head and proceeded to call the office in order to share the highlights of their findings.

Having done that, he walked up to her condo, noticing how she had left the door actually ajar instead of just unlocked. Damn woman making statements. He closed the door very pointedly even if she was nowhere to be seen. He was greeted only by her jacket over the backrest of a chair, the gurgling of the coffee maker and faint shuffling sounds from down the hall.

He followed the sound, coming into her bedroom. The first thing he noticed was her standing barefeet on a chair, intermittently raising on her toes, digging through boxes on the top shelf of a closet. Another position where her legs didn't look half bad, he briefly noted.

"As you can see, I wasn't murdered in the past five minutes," she said without looking down at him.

He didn't dignify that with an answer. Instead, he took in the room. Classy, calm. Suited her. Not many personal details, not much clutter. Remotely like something out of an interior decoration show or a magazine. That, but warmer.

His eyes stopped on the only out-of-place detail he could find and he stepped closer to study it.

"Who's Doctor Edward Tremblay?"

The calling card seemed a little worn, like it had been handled plenty. Fleetingly he feared she might be sick. Maybe that was why she had so adamantly refused to see the paramedics with her ankle. Wonder what kind of a doctor he was...

"Who?"

He read the card again, like there was a possibility of it saying something different. "Doctor Edward Tremblay, M.D. and PhD." Two? One wasn't enough? Pompous ass.

"I have no idea," she said paying him no mind. He wasn't sure she had even realised he had walked in.

"Then why do you have his card on your mirror?"

"Oh, I don't know him." She gave her mirror an affectionate smile. "He just asked me out."

He watched her searching the top shelves for a while. She must have been thinking of accepting the invitation if she had saved his card, on her bedroom mirror nonetheless. What was that about? In her bedroom for goodness' sake! Seemed like a smart guy though, two good degrees and a great taste in women. Not to mention the moxie to ask out a woman he didn't know.

"So, you going?"

She made a sound that could have been a yes, a no, a maybe or a what, or any two of them at the same time. Or maybe nothing at all.

"When did this happen?"

"What?"

"This Tremblay guy asking you out." He wondered whether her one-syllable answers were an indication of distraction or displeasure. "You can tell me to mind my own business if you want."

"No, no need." Pursing her lips, she paused in her search for a few seconds to think. "It was... I don't know. A few days ago, the day before yesterday?" She tried to grasp for an answer out of the thin air. Nothing came. Shaking her head, she concluded, "It was the day you asked me about the ribbons."

For some reason he immediately tried to think back to what she was wearing that day. Some bland suit and something non-descript underneath. A black suit, a white shirt (a top? a blouse?). A black, very fitted suit with a slitted tight skirt showing off her legs. A white almost see-through blouse with a too-generous neckline. He made a mental groan deciding that he should tell her she really did dress inappropriately at work.

"That was what the funny mood was about?"

"Yes." She laughed, almost purring, and he might have imagined the blush too. "After all, it's not everyday that some tall, dark and handsome just walks up and asks me out." She laughed again and made a sarcastic eye roll. "Quite comical really. He said he had seen me around before but never had the chance to talk, even apologized for being creepy."

Oh, the guy was a creep alright. Tall, dark and handsome creep. Wonder how they always got everywhere first. It made his blood pressure feel weird. He needed to get away to take a breather. "I'm getting our coffees," he mumbled and started heading back to her kitchen. He didn't linger long enough to hear if she made a reply.

What the hell kind of a name was Tremblay anyway? Some French speaking snob, most likely. Yeah, that would be even better. A double-doctor with all kinds of game whispering Frech in her ear. Fantastic.

He poured the coffees without even noticing how he found the right cupboard on the first try.

What did it matter to him, really? She was free to date all the French-speaking doctors (PhD, M.D. or any other) she wanted.

Except she was married. At least that was what she kept bringing up with him.

Though last time she had practically tried to drag him into her bed, and it was all his own fault he had woken up in his own. And not even had a clue about it until the next day. Damn fool.

He walked in with their coffees as she was leaning over her dresser, in continued search of something, the skintight red top rising a little from the waist. Suddenly he had a vivid realisation of what all her jackets and loose blouses covered. He watched her frantic (and, if he thought about it all, uncharacteristic) ruffling about for a bit. (But he didn't really think about it, he had other things in mind.) Then he silently walked behind her, reached across over her back to place a cup of coffee on the edge of the dresser top.

Sharon started thanking him when she felt his fingers slightly tracing her side, up and down, very slowly. Oh God.

He saw more than felt her freeze in place under the pads of his tingling fingers. A moment of weakness. It was too much.

Neither of them had a chance to walk the moment back before the slam of the front door was accompanied by clinking of keys and throwing of something heavy against the floor.

He took the three steps back to stand beside the open door, nonchalantly making a start on his coffee. Sharon straightened herself and returned to searching.

"Sharon? You home?" came a little muffled from behind the wall.

"Yes, in here!"

"I thought you weren't coming _–_" Rusty didn't get any further before turning in her doorway and nearly colliding with Andy's elbow, raised in a process of taking a sip.

"Hey kid."

"Flynn."

He shot a glance from Flynn to Sharon. In her bedroom. Alone. Her back to him. Fully clothed, hair in place and door open, with coffee. Unexpectedly. In the middle of the day. She looked a bit flushed. The result of his mental situation analysis was an actual shrug.

She cleared her throat. "I wasn't. Just needed to find the papers for my laptop, it's not working. That red envelope. Have you seen it?"

"No," he replied simply, turning his attention to Andy lounging against the wall. "Nice job with the helping."

"Hey, I made the coffee."

She glanced at him with a lightly surprised disapproval. Then making a toast with her coffee, she remarked, "Nice job with the pouring."

Andy raised his hands in surrender. "I just can't win with you two."

"You yourself once told me we had a great double-act."

Rusty found their suddenly sprung shared smile more than a little silly and he couldn't resist asking, "What's this?"

"Nothing," Sharon said her face returning to neutral, instantly dismissing the comment.

"Oh come on, you cannot start and not tell the story," Andy chastised her teasingly.

"It's not a story." To Rusty she said, "Just ignore him, he's being impossible."

"Watch it Captain, that's tripping awfully close to conduct unbecoming of an officer."

Rusty met Sharon's eyes and they executed in unison a telling half eye roll.

"Just ignore him," she reiterated, "he's being impossible. We'll leave you alone when I find the papers." She met Andy's eyes and raised her chin in challenge. "Then Lieutenant Flynn and me _–_," she stressed the word intentionally, "_–_ will be on our merry detecting way."

He squinted at her. "Okay, I'll give you that one."

"I thought you might."

Rusty left them with a shake of his head adding, "You're both insane."

She pouted and turned to her mirror. Seeing the card, it suddenly clicked. "It's in one of the boxes under my bed."

"How do you know that?"

"The card. That's where I keep important papers I rarely need. Like medical information, user's manuals, warranty cards, you know."

He watched her kneel down beside her bed and immediately categorized that skirt with the other pieces of clothing he needed to have a chat about. He didn't even want to know what that satiny purple thing peeking from the topmost drawer in her dresser had been.

He turned away the moment she went to reach under the bed. His eyes landed on her open closet. Now that was a skirt he needed to have a talk about, really.

"I'll wait in the den."

In answer she made another throaty hum he could have gone without.

-x-

Being alone with him back in the car made her nervous again. Should she talk to him, or...? What should she say? What could she say?

At least she hadn't that pressing urge for nervous banter she had up in her room. She was so, so glad he had jumped right in with her, otherwise... Otherwise what? Rusty would have tormented her, them? She would have fled? Said something stupid?

No, if he hadn't indulged her, she would die of anxiety right now. Being just slightly nervous grappling for things to say was better.

If she told him she hadn't minded the 'it' part of it, he probably wouldn't be all that shocked, all that horrified. But there still was one tiny little piece of business to sort out before she could openly deal with all of this. 'All of this' being a very, very big mess for which she didn't have the words. But they would come, surely? Until then, she needed to wait in silence and hope that he would too.

Being alone with her back in the car was baffling. After the banter in her bedroom with Rusty, she had gone quiet. She had seemed to be okay, not too... incised? Affronted? Violated?

He groaned. Mentally, he hoped. Not words he should be thinking. He was so, so glad Rusty had made his appearance when he had. If Rusty hadn't, it would have been awkward. After apologizing profusely, what could have been said? 'I know I told you no, but I want you on that bed, now'? Right, that's the key to every woman's heart. That much even he knew about women.

'I want you on that bed right now'? His mind was going. He blamed Provenza. If Provenza hadn't convinced him Sharon had asked him to... take the next step, he surely would have gone blissfully unawares of everything, never looking at her that way or practically jumping her in her own home.

He winced at thinking that word. No wonder she was quiet.

"I'm sorry Sharon. For _–_," he made flailing gestures back in the direction of her condo, "_–_ that."

She shook her head but didn't look at him. "It's fine. Don't think about it."

"It was way out of line, doubly so when we are practically on duty. You know I have trouble with cont_–_"

"Please stop."

"Okay."

* * *

**A/N2:** _murphycat: what I'm most waiting from the Featurette, is the "he's surprised by the reason" part of the big D. :D (I'm still in denial hoping the "her secret boyfriend" line was about Sharon.)_  
_This chapter finally exposes post-s2 flaws in my Creative Maths Department (don't read below if not interested in analysis)._  
_In 2011 Sharon had been on the force for 19-24 years thus making her older child max 24 yrs old. In turn, it's early 90s for her and Jack's separation, so kids should be closer to 24, assuming the kids were conceived pre-separation. The Papal visit... yeah. But you never know, maybe she was just lazy in 2011. Or trigger happy fresh from Academy. Or just too fresh. Or lying. :) Screwed by the expanding canon and a horrible memory when it comes to dates, sorry.  
Before anyone asks, the laptop rule, totally true with some assumptions. I admit I laughed._


	25. Chapter 25: Making Amends

**Chapter 25: Making Amends**

When she was a child, her father was often busy, with work and with all the important responsibilities, the trust and everything the different institutions, different people placed on him. It wasn't that he didn't care, he just had difficulties with putting the right thing first. Sometimes he managed it, sometimes he didn't.

One key element about his behaviour she noticed when she was seven. He missed three important (at least for her) dates in a row. One was their annual trip to the beach, just the two of them, a lot of ice cream and swimming. The second was a dance recital he had promised to help her prepare for since her mother was out of town the week leading up to it. The third was a career day at school, which really didn't compare to the other two, but she would have liked to show him off nonetheless.

The thing she noted was that the moment he saw her after missing things, he never apologized, never promised to never do it again. Instead, he made time for her, as soon as humanly possible, to just spend a day, an afternoon, anything alone with her. It was then he apologized, told her he was sorry he had hurt her, let her down but explained that he made mistakes like anybody else, it was all his failings.

She always accepted his apologies, always felt better after them, always was happy for the time he spent with her. Even decades later she loved him for never promising to not to let her down again.

The pattern of letdowns, mistakes, apologies and acceptances continued with her husband. They were young and easily in the wrong at the mundane things, both telling the other they were sorry easily, moving on.

Getting older their mistakes matured, and she thought so did their apologies. She valued the example his father had given her, and found that taking the time to show you cared was imperative. The words helped, but the deeds were what mattered. When he didn't seem to share her opinion, she reminded herself he was a lawyer, dealing in words, and she believed they held him greater meaning.

On his third try to follow through on his promise to get sober she noticed something really disturbing. He always followed the same blueprint. He said he was sorry but something (usually relating to her), asked what to do to make things better, promised to never ever let her down again. Then it was business as usual. Another reason to hurt her, 'sorry but', 'I'll never do it again', 'how can I fix this'.

And she hated him for that, but not as much as she hated herself for never seeing through his blame-shifting non-apologies, always thinking that was as good as she deserved, that he just didn't know the difference.

Looking back, the best she ever got from twelve steps was the unhurried acrobatics against a washing machine full of his shirts.

* * *

**A/N:** _In other news, I'm currently working on the final chapter, geez the cutting and pasting! Having some troubles deciding where to end this, what to leave out (there's material for like... six chapters in that mess alone) but I'm secretly convinced I can finish this on time. Yay._


	26. Chapter 26: The Other Thing

**Chapter 26: The Other Thing**

The first half of July wouldn't have been complete without an unnecessary, and very unwelcome, surprise that walked through her office door one Tuesday. She had seen him walking in around the corner, but she was too stunned to do anything but sit and stare.

Not really unexpectedly, Jack was back. Just passing through, as usual. Their life had been all passing through in one form or another.

He stormed straight through into her office, leaving a mixed bag of stares in his wake.

She fought very hard to not stand up. "Jack." She gave up without regrets.

"You know your little brats called me to just tell me not to call."

He didn't bother with social niceties, only jumping straight into his grievances. She clicked her pen and dropped it on the pad on which she had been making notes. This was going to be one of those encounters. Only one way to see where this was going was to ride it out. She sighed and looked around him to the open door. Yeah, good old Jack.

"They are your children too and they are not little anymore," she said calmly.

He sneered. "Right. Well I guess you rather they weren't since you go telling them —"

"Telling them what? You think I told them not to be in contact with you? Hate to burst your bubble, but those are all your relationships and this is the first time I hear about their decisions."

He was as calmly hostile as he hadn't been in... She didn't even remember. This wasn't like him. At least he wasn't raising his voice too much.

"As if. But there you go." He threw the folder in her direction, the papers flitting around her feet. "You got what you wanted! Everything ruined, Sharon. Happy now?"

She was sure he wanted to see her cry, look lost, go after him. Like she had probably continually done in the past. The pity always overwhelmed her. Today, instead, she pursed her lips and said only one word.

"Exalted."

"You bitch."

She watched him walk away, knowing they would talk again. Maybe not soon, but some day. He would not stay angry and hurt, she would not stay cool and distant. And honestly, she didn't want that, never had.

She sighed again, dropping her hands, as well as her gaze to her feet.

Well, if nothing else, it was a short drive-by, she had to give him that.

She was contemplating life and meaning in the midst of the printed letters, not making any effort to try and see the words or pick the sheets up. Somewhere in her peripheral vision she saw Provenza approaching, only to be stopped by Andy blocking him with one hand.

Andy walked through her door, gauging her mood. If he was a guessing man, it looked like she was tilted off-kilter by the shame of the way her personal life again encroached her professional. When she didn't react to his presence, he turned around to pull the blinds and closed the door quietly. Then he proceeded to pick up the papers and couldn't avoid skimming one of them.

"Divorce?" That made her snap out of whatever she had been thinking and she snatched the papers from him. "You're finally getting divorced?" He couldn't help but hear how that 'finally' sounded. "Why?"

She walked to her desk, trying to put the papers in order. "I'm a manipulative bitch, haven't you heard?"

"You're not." She looked at him pointedly. "Alright, you can be. But when you are, it's high compliment."

"Really."

"It shows you care. You wouldn't do it otherwise."

"Oh?"

"When you manipulate someone, you steer them to make themselves better."

"I'm not sure people agree. Ask Jack, ask Brenda."

"Jack's a moron." He hasted to add, "No offence." When she didn't jump in with an agreement or a refutation, any answer really, he cleared his opinion, "No amount of anything is enough for him." He took a chair and sat down. "As for Brenda, caring is exactly what you did. After you talked to her, she was more driven."

"Angry you mean," she shot mutedly from her file folder.

"Angry, frustrated, whatever. It all resulted in better focus and determination." She still was quiet and the conversation lacking. Maybe a little personal touch wouldn't hurt. "It was what you did to me, even if I was too stupid to see it at the time. You managed to annoy me enough to start getting my act together just on spite."

Her head shot up for a second. "What if I told you that wasn't my intention, exactly the opposite?"

"Then the joke is on you. I'm here and not going anywhere, all your own fault. Except that now we have an interview to get to. Dry the eyes and come on."

"I'm not crying."

"Of course you're not."

"I am not!"

"It's nothing to be ashamed of, perfectly normal."

Finally she met his eyes. "Andy! I. Am. Not. Crying. I don't cry in front of people."

"Then what's —," he made a circle with his forefinger, "— that? So that I know in the future."

"This is plain pissed, on the verge of hopping mad. A little bit of disappointment." She paused for a quick shrug. "Frustration mainly."

"And what can I do about it?" he asked standing up. She mirrored his action.

"Nothing. Stay quiet, get out of my way and pray to God you don't manage to do anything to annoy me."

When he heard that, he knew she was all right, despite the dabbing of the corners of her eyes.

Opening the door for her, he mused, "This is starting to sound like your whole career in IA."

"Except this time you better do as I told you."

-x-

After the interview, they were in the break room having a cup of coffee. The team had been great with her, not mentioning Jack at all, not getting all quiet when she walked into a room. Obviously they must be talking about it, obviously Andy had went and told them, possibly Provenza, and they had made a decision not to say anything. Andy probably had told them to zip it (in words as pleasant).

He had been nice to her, recently. Not so much before. Well, recently being a relative term. But still. What was the change of heart? She couldn't quite pinpoint his motivation.

She was musing along those lines, only intermittently remembering her drink, her back to the counter, studying the man in question sitting at a table with a coffee in hand.

"What?" He wasn't really comfortable under her gaze.

"Nothing." His eyebrow rose questioningly and she slipped to the chair opposite. "I was just thinking it's a long leap from buddies to 'moron'."

He was puzzled.

"Jack. I thought you always were of the opinion that he's the wronged one here."

Finally he was on the same page. "Ah. Well, he was always good for a few laughs."

"That he was."

"And alcohol impairs your judgement. In fact I can vaguely remember a night of you personally trying to convince me of that particular fact."

She shrugged. "Quite possible."

"And I thought I was unforgettable! Captain, you wound me," he said, complete with the theatrics of placing a hand over his heart.

She slapped his arm in near-laughter.

"If it's any consolation to know, I never thought anything of your marriage. Much too busy ordering another drink." He paused to take a sip. She was sure he was lying, but let him keep his fiction. It must be almost given Jack had talked about her, painted her in a certain light. She knew all the looks she got after saying her name weren't because of the division she worked in. "And he never really talked about it, just that he had a wife, who was a cop, and kids. Didn't even say how many. That I learned from you."

"Me?" she asked, being a little curious how he would wriggle out of that one, never assuming it could be true.

"One of your classic rants on how inconsiderate it was of me going about flailing my gun and getting your two little kids out of bed at three in the morning."

Now that he said it, it rang a bell, albeit faintly. "I've got classics?"

"Oh yes, quite a few. You never noticed I was going for the whole set?"

She was about to remark that they hadn't seen each other that much back in the day, when a distictly pissed off voice interrupted their little heart-to-heart.

"Would you two stop dating on the job and do some actual work!"

Fixing her eyes on Provenza, she saw his countenance match perfectly with her assessment of his voice.

"Lieutenant, I'm sure you are familiar of the rules defining the officers' entitlement to coffee breaks?" She was sure he was, since they explicitly stated there was no such thing, but needed the extra eight seconds it would take him to answer to finish her drink and get up.

"When the said officers leave me to deal with six kinds of annoying pompous airheads, they are entitled to absolutely nothing." She was already passing him in the doorway, but he addressed the both of them equally, "Now get a move on, I'm getting old here."

Andy lingered with his coffee just on spite, just to wind up Provenza that extra bit more.

"And I thought you didn't do begging," he told his aggravated friend.

Provenza looked him up and down. "I don't. That's a trick best reserved to lapdogs."

-x-

At the end of the day, Sharon shared the elevator down with civilian employees she didn't know, a couple of uniformed officers and a tower of filing boxes that didn't seem to belong to anyone present. A fact that irked her somewhat, but let it slide into the back of her mind. Walking to her car, she passed by Andy throwing his jacket on the back seat of his. She gave him a brief smile and barely raised the wrist of her right hand to perform a pathetic excuse of a wave. In answer he smiled and checked around to see anyone else present. Coming up empty, he slammed the door shut and crossed over to her.

"Want to celebrate, commiserate, something?" she asked in a form of a greeting. Though she was slightly surprised of asking outright, it admittedly was not totally spur-of-the moment.

"Sure," he said grinning wider, not clearly thinking anything of her apropos approach. "But the moment you get drunk and start crying after —," he hesitated to bring up Jack's name and she clearly understood what he was not saying, "— whatever, know that I'm jumping ship."

"I think my cryings might be cried out by now. Thank you for the chivalry, though," she frowned playfully. "I will say, I do wish things had gone different, that they didn't end like this, but that's all I'm saying on the subject."

He was sure it wouldn't be all she was going to say for the whole evening, but wasn't sure he minded it.

"So what do you want to do?" he asked dropping the subject.

"Celebrate." She mused for a while, her eyes raised, before giving a wide smile. "With eating my weight in ice cream. "

He chuckled at her eagerness. "Okay, I can work with that."

Forty minutes later, watching her feasting on one of the biggest sundaes he had ever seen in real life, he was starting to fear it wasn't crying he had to deal with as much as it was going to be throwing up. Holding her hair wouldn't be too much a chore, though. After finishing his own small scoopful, microscopic in comparison, he finally tried to strike up some conversation.

"So what does it feel like?"

She was baffled. "What? The ice cream?"

He sighed, exasperated. "The divorce, Sharon, the divorce. You really do play dumb sometimes."

"I don't, I had no way of knowing what you're thinking."

"You mean to tell me you haven't been thinking about it?" It sounded slightly strange, seeing that she hadn't said a full sentence to him, exhibiting all of those tell-tale deep-in-thought signs she had.

"No, haven't spared it a thought." Thinking now, she took a spoonful of the icecream and let it melt in her mouth before answering, "Doesn't feel like much, to be honest. After all, it's been in the making for nearly thirty years. Doesn't mean that I don't... lament the fact of it, but at the moment, it's not on my mind. Maybe later, when I'm alone, tomorrow, next week." She paused to lick her spoon. "I told you, I wasn't going to talk about it."

"If not that, what have you been thinking?"

She looked him up and down, thoughtfully. "I don't want to say it. Not now."

"Can I say something then?" She nodded. "About last week —" She started to protest, but he cut her off by holding up his palm. "I know we talked about it — briefly, if I may add —," he continued, shooting her a spearing glance since he was of the opinion the talk they should have should consist of more than six words and her telling him to forget about it, "— but if you would've actually let me say something, I'd have explained that that day wasn't the problem." Taking a deep breath, he said what had been pressing his mind for better part of two weeks, "That night after the play... I think I made a horrible mistake."

"Andy, it was a nice evening, you didn't do anything wrong."

"Sharon! Yes I did!" The startled way in which she looked around her told him he needed to cool it. "Yes I did," he reiterated just as strongly but with less volume. "You know I'm not always the smartest one but that night I was exceptionally thick. I didn't realise that you did — so I did —. That is to say, I never meant to say no."

"Well that's good since I didn't mean to ask — what you think I meant."

"You didn't?" That much for trusting Provenza.

She bit her lower lip. "No. But I did ask you up. To talk, as friends."

"Oh, alright. That's good."

"However, that is not to say I didn't entertain the idea that... Oh, I shouldn't be telling you this!" She chortled and tried to shrug it off.

"No Sharon, go ahead." He watched her earnestly, almost painfully pleading. "I need to hear this, and I think I really want to hear this."

"Not here."

-x-

He had waited, anxiously, for her to finish her oversized treat. Finally, way too many minutes later, she had. He had quickly steered her on the walkway following along the edge of the beach (a strategic move to make her not look over her shoulder in case there was someone who could recognize them, the idea of her being more receptive maybe planted by association to the other times they had been on a beach together). He started waiting patiently for her to return to the subject he was dying to hear, but she didn't seem to be in any hurry.

He tried to distract himself by watching the birds at the sea. He noticed a seagull pinching a man's watch. "Look, Sharon, over there. Criminal activity. Should we intervene?"

"I'm not a park ranger. And you should seriously stop with flashing your badge off-duty."

"Yeah yeah."

"I'm serious. I've been meaning to tell you that both in an official capacity as well as someone who keeps opening her door at night to your smug face without a previous warning."

"Maybe you should consider me being smug being a result of you opening your door for me, no matter the hour."

"Don't flatter yourself, if someone knocks, I open."

"You really shouldn't be —"

Without letting him say his peace, Sharon strayed in the direction of an icecream booth.

"— opening your door to just anyone. Damn woman," he finished with no one hearing.

She quickly returned with a big scoop in a cup, already digging in at her leisurely pace. He watched her, grinning, enjoying her enjoying the icecream.

With her best impression of his scowl and abrupt style, she asked "What?"

"You sure can tuck it away."

"I happen to like icecream, besides which I told you I fully intended on overdosing on said substance tonight. If memory serves, you told me you could handle it."

"I can, I am. It's just sweet."

She hummed around another spoonful of her Madagascar Vanilla. "That it is."

He was slightly startled by her sudden chuckles.

"Did you know I seduced my first boyfriend with icecream?"

"You made your own icecream?"

She laughed. "No. Let's just say he appreciated the tricks I knew to make store-bought vanilla more interesting." She laughed some more.

"I'm pretty sure you're messing with me," he said with a squint.

"I am."

"You should be ashamed of yourself." He feigned disapproval.

"I am." Her choking on her icecream wasn't the only clue he had to her insincerity. She made a flapping motion with one wrist. "Just ignore me, I'm in a funny mood."

"Again." He shrugged. "That's what divorce does to you. My funny mood lasted for years. I'm sure you've heard."

She hummed again around the icecream.

"So, what were the tricks?"

She choked again. In between coughs, she interjected, "I'll leave that to your imagination."

"Oh no. You have no idea of the things I can imagine."

"I bet they can't be far from the truth." Then her mind flashed full of images of what you could do with icecream and no clothes. "If you keep your imaginations at least in the vicinity of age appropriateness. What I was thinking after the play, could have used a little editing as well."

At her words his interest perked. Finally the subject he had been waiting!

She briefly paraphrased what she had thought that night. How she was in a funny mood then too and how thinking of Jack had made her a little loopy. Laughing it off, painting it as a joke, as a fleeting fantasy.

He was less amused, more shocked, intrigued... hopeful.

Briefly, for the first time, she felt she was totally free to delve into the rest of it too. If she had done it out loud, if he did tell her a straight-up no, it was alright, at least they would know. Somehow she thought it wouldn't be a 'no'.

But she didn't say anything in that direction. Not until he had picked up on the crux of the matter she was avoiding and quietly but seriously said, "I tried to tell you, to ask you, before the Nutcracker, but I thought you..."

"And I would have." She picked a small flake of still firm icecream on her spoon, not meeting his eyes. "But that's not to say that..." She summed her thoughts by saying, "I would have been open to the discussion."

"Coming to think of it, you said as much." She made a slim hum in her throat and avoided his gaze twice as hard. "'No interest in being your fake girlfriend'." He correctly emphasized the word 'fake', unfortunately.

"I didn't say that."

In disbelief, he stared at her scraping some of the melted vanilla from her cup. Maybe his memory was going after all. He distinctly thought —

"I said, 'absolutely no interest'."

"Oh, that's right." His lips curved into a smile. "Huge difference that."

She quietly finished her scoopful, and he kept the silly grin, hoping she wouldn't say anything to take it away, wishing she would make things even better. She did.

"I liked you —, oh that sounds so juvenile!"

"Well, it's the best description, I guess?" He had no interest (maybe 'absolutely no interest'?) in hearing her fish for the best semantics.

"Yes. I liked you and thought ahead of myself and then you didn't give me any indication that maybe you were... But when you did, it scared the hell out of me. Thinking of the lines I shouldn't cross." She briefly thought about the difference in 'should' and 'could'. Maybe even 'had'. "And we are friends," she finished the thought out loud. "Aren't we?" She didn't look for his confirmation, but he hesitated a second or two before nodding. "And that's why I've been so... all over the place. I understand I have hurt you, but I'm simply no good at this."

"Yeah, you confuse me. A lot."

"I let you get in a little too close, and I shouldn't have." On any other conversation, on any other day, he would have stopped her there and objected. Him getting too close? How private can one person be, if this was 'too close'! "And I didn't want to say anything before the other thing was official either."

"Appearances," he said taking her empty icecream cup and dropping it into the trash.

She nodded. "Appearances." Tilting her head, she kept thinking out loud, "Not that going from separated to divorced is that much of a difference, but what with the situation and you and Jack and —" She continued the list with her hand's rolling motion.

Placing one palm on her forearm, he reaffirmed her, "Hey, if it feels like a difference, it is one."

Finally she looked into his eyes, briefly. "I've never done anything like this before. Not where it matters." She left the 'this' vague, and he didn't feel this was the day to make her explain or define anything. "And this is not me. Normally."

"I know, things get weird sometimes, what with always going by the book and all."

This time she gave him a long look. "You really think that? Hate to tell you different, but the best way to keep enforcing the rules is to first try and find ways to break them."

"Sharon, you don't believe that yourself." She only stared at him. "You're not kidding. Right." When she looked away, like she often did when joking, he needed an affirmation, so he hesitated, "Are you?"

She chuckled and shook her head in desperation. "I don't know what the problem is really." Placing her face in her palms, she sighed, "I'm a mess."

"Yeah, an absolute and total mess." He pulled her to him by her shoulders, and against his better judgement ghosted a kiss on her hair. It felt like the most intimate thing they had ever shared. With any luck, she wouldn't even notice. "We are no kids anymore. It's not just 'I like you, you like me' and happily ever after. There's things and life to consider. Allegiances, affiliations, the whole nine yards. And that's heavy stuff."

"You know, that might be the best thing anyone's ever said to me."

"Oh, Sharon, that's —"

"No, it's fine. I don't mean it like that." She looked up, searching for the words. "It's just that —. Before —. It's not —. When —. If there's —." She settled with, "You know."

"Yeah. Though I thought I was the articulate one."

She told him firmly to 'Shut up', but placed her arm around his back.

Letting her sort out her thoughts a little more, all the while beaming like a lighthouse (and being more than a little happy Sharon couldn't see his face), he was starting to run through the things she had just said. Was this a hopeful sign? Was this something more? Or was she just telling a friend she couldn't handle some things?

After all, he had said the magic part, 'we like each other', with the correct emphasis (at least in his opinion), and she had, for all intents and purposes, bypassed it without a yes or a no. Was this the 'we like each other, but I'm not sure it's like-like, so maybe we should cool this whole thing off' conversation? The 'we like each other, but things are too hard and I don't want do anything about it' talk? The 'we are friends who have a crush on each other and we know better, so let's just cut our losses' treatment?

Suddenly he didn't feel like beaming that much.

"You know the rule we talked about?" she asked, her voice a little muffled.

Inserting the word 'rule' in a conversation about a relationship wasn't a good sign in his experience. He decided to be a good sport about it, go along with it and let her finish; to argue, plead, coerce later.

"'The avoidance of an actual or potential conflict is particularly acute for superiors and subordinates'. Yeah," he laid out with much less enthusiasm than he was feeling only minutes ago.

"You've read it. So you know that in this relationship, whatever it is, there should be no difference between me and the Chief of Police."

"I think there's huge differences in you and Will Pope. And I thinks it's great." Her tired and decidedly bemused look shouted 'really, you had to go there?' loud and clear. Okay, it was a cheap shot, can't blame a guy for trying. "But I know what you mean."

"Can you convince me of the fact that there is nor will there be no appearance of misconduct? No matter what we do, however we take this. Or that if there is, things will be... resolved in a way that is in the best interest of us and the Department?"

He puffed out a few notes of (pained) laughter. "Sharon, just out of curiosity, have you read that recently or do you remember every guideline, and you yourself called it a guideline last time," he added in an effort to get her on the same page he wanted her to be on with him, "verbatim just because?"

"I read it. But I do remember most things like that anyway."

"Would it be wrong of me to imply that nothing matters if you just don't get caught?" Her unamused glower told him his answer. With opened arms, he had to shrug. "That's the truth though."

"You know I have to mull things over."

"And I'm sorry I can't give you reassurances but there's actually options to this." His 'this' totally decided in his mind, and it wasn't the level of the off-duty friendship she was probably fretting about. "Shut up, shut down, take a chance. Bribe, blackmail, transfer."

"I'm not sure whether I should laugh or admire your analysis of the situation."

"Admire. Always opt for admire. Lord knows there's not many chances for that so you should grab any you can get."

Her amused hum that usually was a balm to his ears didn't do much for him this time. He wanted her to say the words. Not just any words, the words that would move them forward. Friendships were nice, but... He wanted her to make the decision, tell him to ask her on a date, anything.

When even fifteen minutes later she didn't, he had to turn to her and ask in the hopes he could get the answer he wanted.

"So where does this all leave us?"

She didn't meet his eyes, didn't react in any way, other than quietly letting out, "I have no idea."

* * *

**A/N: **_Ugh, this was a mess. Not really loving it, not even liking most of it, but what the heck. _**  
**_I have a little trouble with the Jack/Andy relationship or how Sharon comes into that... So I bypassed the issue with Andy being dismissive (possibly lying) and Sharon not caring (keeping her preconceptions). Too lazy. :)__  
_


	27. Chapter 27: Disruptions

**Chapter 27: Disruptions  
**

She had a recurring dream of Jack asking her to marry him. They were always sitting at a table, talking, flirting, just spending time. At some point, he got up, flashed her a smile, sometimes winked at her, once or twice even patted her back, and walked up to the front of the room. Sometimes she dreamed of a stage, sometimes it was a dance floor. In every scenario he had a microphone at hand. Spotlight, applauses and whistles. Every time around her pulse was too high for her heart to bare. Still she walked up, smiled and said yes.

-x-

After Jack's first walkabaout (like a friend ended up calling his unwelcome disappearances in her efforts at sensitivity), she ran to the door and hugged him more fiercely than she had ever hugged him, let alone anyone else. The kids were ecstatic to have their father at dinner with them; they waited on their father's hand and foot, two little chatterboxes with full smiles. The breakfast was a more quiet affair, with two petulant little sulkers and an empty seat at the end. On the next round she still welcomed him with open arms, but the hug was less fierce.

-x-

"Can't you call your babysitter and have a nightcap?" a date asked her once. That was a rare night: her parents were looking after the children. "I — Yes. No. Okay, yes," she answered with that insecurity men always brought with them. She hated it, but thought it normal until she had broken them in, so to speak, to fit in her life. No one really had, and to be fair, she always cut them loose before they got wise of her problem. This was no different, that nightcap was the last he heard of her. Yet she kept trying.

-x-

Her daughter's high school graduation just behind them, she heard her on the phone with Jack. She didn't realise straightaway it was him and was about to close her daughter's door, but when hearing, "No dad, she's got so many takers she could get remarried tomorrow," she contemplated letting her presence to be known. "She could do so much better than you. In fact, the last guy's amazing." First she wondered where they could have met, but then it dawned, her daughter was plain lying to stick up for her. "Not a slut, dad, just the best person I've known."

* * *

**A/N:** _I kept this short and sweet (couldn't find anything else remotely appropriate to the theme), the next one is neither. Well, the taste of angst: did we agree on sweet?_  
_Re: date: a couple of 'yes'es, no absolute 'no's. So as per requests: with Tremblay, check. Jealous Andy, check. Wonderful Andy, check. Angst, check. Awkwardness, check. The talk, check. Late night at Andy's... no. But late night with Andy, check. Happy? :D  
(I kinda wanted to run with the bad date - perfect non-date idea, but they've been having so many great non-dates!)  
Thanks for anyone bothering to read & comment!_


	28. Chapter 28: Midnight

**Chapter 28: Midnight**

His heart was beating like he was running 'the 10k' and his mouth was drying out. He had to do this, this had to work. What was the worst thing? Her saying 'no'?

Being glad to hear her call out "enter" in answer to his slightly hesitant knock, upon opening the door, Andy started his morning by forgetting all the normal niceties or his gladness at seeing Sharon poised for closing the lid of her laptop. She gave him a brief smile, which he didn't manage to return, and finished flicking the lid down.

"Your hair looks different," he succeeded in getting out while closing the door behind him.

She unconsciously smoothed it over one shoulder. "It does?"

"Yeah." He tilted his head and considered the look. "Wavier. Bouncier. Something. I'm no hairdresser."

"No, that you certainly aren't." She smiled again at his contemplation. "So what did you want?"

His eyes did another sweep over the outlines of her hairstyle. Yeah, definitely something different.

"Andy?"

"Oh, right. Well, Nicole has this barbeque party for the kids and I was wondering if..."

"Sure."

He gave her an odd look. "You didn't even hear what I wanted."

"It's kids. Whatever you want, within reason, you've got it."

Now there was a situation open for unlimited possibilities. "You do realize I could ask for something ridiculous?"

"Yes. But you're not going to, are you?"

"No..." Again the morning light hitting her hair distracted him. "I wanted to ask if you'd let me out a little earlier today. To go and help out. Any little bit will do."

She tried the smile once more. "Well if things don't turn up crazy, go ahead, take the whole afternoon off."

"That would be great." He swallowed, his mouth still feeling dry. "If you can spare me."

"Oh, I think we can manage," she said with a smirk.

"Great, thanks a lot." He stood up, ready to go.

"Hold on!"

He turned back around and met her serious eyes. "Yes?"

"Just one question. Can you be of any help at a barbeque?"

"Sharon!" He puffed out a compact sigh that ended up sounding more like a scoff. "Ever heard of grilled vegetables? Besides I can turn a steak, my skills aren't that limited."

"You sure?"

The pointed way she asked it made him exhale loudly and roll his eyes. "Wanna come and look over my shoulder the whole evening?"

This time the smile was a quirking of her lips. "No, I'm just trying to mess with you."

"You seriously need more work to do," he scoffed letting his exasperation show.

"You needed to breathe. You've been anxious as hell standing there." She stood up and gathered the papers on her 'in' pile, then started on opening the folders. "I wasn't sure you wouldn't faint for lack of oxygen. Or if your facial muscles had paralyzed."

He watched her for a few beats, walked to the door and got ready to open it the moment he had said what he was planning. He spared her another extended glance and smirked before measuredly drawing out, "Yeah? Well that's you get for taking my breath away."

-x-

"Wow. Now that's a dress," Rusty commented on Sharon opening the front door for him that evening. She let him in with a smile and the scoop to her mid-back made him pause. "I'm guessing you're not going back to work." Though it was black and not too overly tight, the open neckline and the wide white edges weren't really a part of her office look. Not to mention the shortness.

Rusty wasn't too sure how to take it. He wouldn't call it plain sexy, it was still classy, but more than she usually wore. He watched her placing shoes on the floor. They were practically two inch wide straps on a too high heel. He glanced her face. The street name for those shoes didn't really fit with his idea of his foster mom. "Please tell me you're not wearing those shoes."

She paused to look him in the eyes. "Why? What's wrong?"

He was shifty on his feet. "Look Sharon, I know I've teased you like a lot, but... It's a date, right?"

"Yes, it's a date."

"Don't you think it's... Look, he already likes you in jeans and t-shirts."

"It's not Andy."

"It's not? Why?" Rusty was truly taken aback.

There probably was at least fifteen ways to answer that, but she didn't want to go there at all. Instead she just cleared her throat and went through her purse.

"Don't tell me it's Jack."

Her eyes snapped back to his instantly. "What? Rusty, why would you say that? Of course it's not Jack! I would never go back there, you know that."

"Are you sure you can wear that? I mean, it's not like... But —. You know."

She smiled reassuringly. "Honey, it's alright, I can change or not go if you're not comfortable. I wore this dress to my daughter's performance once, but if you think..."

"No, no, it's fine, if you think it is. Just do me a favor, okay?" She nodded. She'd do anything, he should know. "Just don't bring him here. Or if you do, call me to get out. I want to meet him before just walking into him at breakfast."

She didn't fight the urge to hug him. "I won't bring him here. It's just a dinner and I'll be back in a couple of hours. And this time I do mean it, not like... you know."

He felt a little weird holding her bare back but tried not to think about it. "Call me if you go with him."

"I won't. Go with him, I mean." She released him, keeping her eyes on his. "It's just eating out, he's not that kind of a man. In fact, you've seen him. I would have introduced you if we had seen him since he asked me." She returned to her purse. "I will keep my phone on, you can call me any time. His card is on my bedroom mirror, call him if you can't reach me. Do you want the restaurant's contact details?"

He shook his head, but secretly appreciated the offer and the fact she told to call the man if needed.

She studied him, considering if it would be better to not go, deciding it would probably be better if she went and showed him a dinner out could be just a dinner out, nothing more.

Wanting to leave him with a little uplifting, she added, "Don't worry, I'll be careful and I can take care of myself. After all, I'm the one who wears a gun."

He tried a smile. It didn't wholly agree with him. "Not with that dress."

-x-

Walking into the restaurant they had agreed to meet with her date, 'the Tremblay guy' Andy had called him (she scoffed at thinking that over and over again vowing to ask him if there was a name people called him other than the formal 'Edward'), she was painfully aware of being late. Damn cabs couldn't be trusted!

She gave his name to the headwaiter and was pointed into the general direction of a table in the back. Arriving at the table, she shrugged her coat off, shook his hand and sat down next to him.

"I'm sorry for being late," she started, immediately fishing her phone out and placing it next to her glass.

He shrugged. "Things happen. You're here now. And looking great."

Checking the menu was a near silent affair. He offered to order the wine, highlighting two he thought good, and she conceded to the second. The first glass she downed before they even saw food.

"So, tell me about your life," he tried, albeit nervously.

"I don't know what you want to hear." After two self-aware chuckles, she amended, "Yes, I've been called difficult in an interview. Not to say this is one, but —"

"You prefer specifics." She nodded. "Well, I know what you do and I know your rank, but what do you actually do?"

"I'm heading Major Crimes Division."

"Sounds like a tough job."

"It is, sometimes." She paused to take a sip of her water. "I was previously with Professional Standards, for a long time, and that was very difficult too, but for whole different reasons."

It was his first try at showing amusement. "Nothing worse than those with the self-given license to tell you how to do your job. Yes, I have it too."

"Doctors make the worst patients?"

"And when it's research, everyone's an Einstein."

They shared a smile.

"What do you research? Or is that classified?"

"No, not classified. A bit difficult and a lot boring."

"Try me." She could tell he read her interest from the glint of her eyes. Nothing better to get people comfortable than to get them talking about things they felt passionate about.

"Alright, it's protein research, namely tau pathology, taupathies. The presence of problematic changes in the activation of signalling cascades that can ultimately lead to neuron death." With a tint of regret he watched her leaning her chin on her palm, staring to the distance. "You probably have no idea what I just told you."

"No, no. I was just thinking isn't that the one connected with Alzheimer and brain damage cases? The relevance of taupathology in cases not considered taupathies?" Shaking her head, she supplicated, "Or something, I'm not entirely understanding all of it."

"Yes, absolutely," he grinned widely. "I'm sorry I'm so surprised someone on the outside actually knew that."

"Don't be. You probably would rather not hear how I learnt that." He watched her in eager suspense, she gave a bashful smile. "Embezzlement case with fatalities. The petrie dishes were collateral damage. One of the medical journals we collected as evidence had an article on it."

"You read everything you take as evidence?"

"No, but I try to glance through everything if the case isn't going well."

"And just remember things."

"What can I say, it's a skill that gets useful at parties."

"Sharon?" Her eyes flicked away from her date at the familiar voice.

-x-

Andy had seen that adorable shrug he was starting to feel quite possessive of, and combined with that smile that took her some seconds too long to wipe off, his pleasant surprise was feeling a little chillier.

"Oh. Hi —"

He was sure he had seen those too red lips starting to form his name, but it didn't escape.

His eyes flicked to the man sitting with her. Tall, dark, handsome in a rugged way. Yeah, that guy gets the enticing quirk of a shrug and a fourteen carat smile, all she has left for him was a distanced 'hi'. Guy — shrug, him — hi. Didn't seem that fair for the guy she saw every day.

Well, time to show a little distance gained, starting with repeating her name.

"Sharon, would you like to make the introductions?"

"Yes, of course." She turned to face her date and with a warm smile gestured, "Doctor Edward Tremblay. This is —" How should she introduce him? 'Lieutenant' seemed a bit strange at night, after he had called her by her first name. Just saying his name didn't offer any context. Calling him her friend was a bit awkward.

He watched her indecision for a split second. Great, she couldn't even bring herself to say his name. He knew he should've learned French.

Well, time to take the reins.

"Hi, Andy Flynn. I work with Sharon." The men shook hands. "So you're the doctor." If he was surprised to hear the 'the' coming from Andy's mouth, to his credit, he didn't show it. "I didn't ask Sharon, but what sort of a doctor are you?"

"The researching kind." The doctor glanced at Sharon who, to Andy's dismay, hummed a note of laughter in response. "Neurosciences, molecular biology. I'm doing research on tau pathology, throw in a little a-synuclein neurotoxicity. We are trying to solve tau abnormalities' effects on neuron functions."

Andy watched Sharon with enough intensity to block out the man's explanation. Sounded like something utterly boring and inconsequential. Hopefully Sharon had told him that. "I have no idea what that is," he told with his attention slipping back to the doctor.

"Really?" Again the guy looked at Sharon. "I thought it came up in a case."

She cleared her throat. "It did. He didn't read it, I did."

"Read what, Sharon?" Andy asked. Well, more like demanded. He couldn't believe she was telling a stranger about cases! Little Miss Ethical herself.

Again, he knew there were reasons for learning French and if he had known that was all it took to get away with stuff, he'd be a flippin' Jack Cousteau.

"Old evidence. The lab case. The medical journals on the floor, the ones Sykes bagged against Provenza's wishes."

He shrugged, quickly tracing the lines of her legs from entirely too high heels to that skimpy excuse of a dress. "I didn't know you read everything, Sharon."

The light squint of her eyes told him she was on to him.

"Apparently she gets a lot of mileage out of the habit," the Tremblay guy smirked at her and she turned her face away from Andy, probably to hide a blush, he suspected. When she straightened her neck, he noticed it was something even worse. A bashful smile. That was a game over for him.

"Well, I better get going. You guys have fun, Sharon, I'll see you at work." He almost wanted to lean in and give her cheek a peck, but valued his life too much to risk the wrath of Raydor. "Say hi to Rusty."

Hearing 'who's Rusty' from behind his back he grinned. Nothing beat scoring points on a Hail Mary.

-x-

Watching Andy's retreating back as far as her neck could twist, she answered on autopilot, "Rusty's my foster son. He's friends with the whole team." He had rattled her more than she would like to admit.

She stared the back wall trying to get her thoughts back to here and now.

"This guy, Flynn?" At her nod he continued, "There's history with you? I'm only asking because I don't want to step on any toes. Heck, I don't even know if you are married."

"I am." At his horrified look, she remembered a teensy little fact and laughed. "I am honestly sorry for that. It's a habit."

"Your marriage is a habit?" he tried nervously.

She laughed a little more. "Well, it was for twenty years." She collected herself and placed a palm on his arm. "I am so sorry for shocking you. I was married, yes, when you asked me. Separated, legally, for twenty years. Now I am free as a bird, a brand new divorcee."

"Your ex-husband doesn't..." He made a little wave to the direction Andy had exited.

She caught his meaning. "No, not Andy! He's a friend. A colleague and a friend. I mean a co-worker. Well, I'm his boss."

"And that's it? I mean his attitude..."

"Oh, he's all attitude," she waved his concern off. "The day he's not being an ass on spite is the day he's dead. We've known each other for... well, longer than I care to count right now. Let's just say that when I worked force investigations our paths might have crossed."

"But you've dated? Or he wants to?"

She looked him straight in the eye with all her professional fronts in use. "To the first, no. The second one you have to ask him." She melted her expression just a smidgen. "Honestly, that was just him being him. The only men in my life susceptible to harassing my dates are my father and my two sons. Well, okay, I'm lying. The team will try it, a friend or two might even succeed, but those are the three I'm not going to punish harshly for even thinking of trying." She winked at him before adding, "Only the regular amount."

He seemed a lot relieved. "So you've got two kids too? I have two girls, both doctors, to mine and my ex-wife's displeasure."

"Well you don't often hear kids becoming doctors being disappointments to their parents."

"Only to parents who are doctors themselves, I guess. Something to do with knowing the bad sides of the job. Or did you want your two little kiddies growing up to be police officers?"

"Absolutely not! But I've got three. A son and a daughter and then there's Rusty. He's the youngest, the one you met, saw. And he is normally a great, great boy."

"So you told me." He was clearly amused at her insistence. "What was the problem? If I may ask."

"He had just found out I was a scarlet woman," she said before remembering his shock earlier. Maybe not the wisest joke, but if that was going to scare him off, he wasn't even remotely ready for the reality of her life. "And there's my horrible sense of humour again." She took a drink of her wine. "For reasons not suitable for a first date conversation, I got upset, tried to take a quick breather away from the house, ended up spending the evening with a friend, finally falling asleep there and got home only that morning. For a lot of other stuff not suitable for a first date, he's not good with that sort of thing and thinking I left him without a backward glance to spend the night with a man he didn't know, which I don't do, he was blowing off steam. Justly so. I let him down."

"But normally he's a great kid."

She smiled radiantly. "Oh yes, one of the best. He's very smart and works hard. We have a good relationship, Andy in fact called it a paradise some time ago, and it's the truth. Of course it wasn't that from the start and if I fail him, there are consequences still. He hasn't been with me that long. That is part of my phone has been on the table for the whole evening. I'm sorry if it seems a bit rude." Feeling she was being a bad date, talking about herself all the time, she added after a pause, "What about your daughters? Do they still live close by?"

"Oh no, they're back home." She was a bit lost. Had he told her where 'home' was? "I'm Canadian, he helped her."

"Well I know that, but I didn't know if — or where —"

"Jenna, she's the oldest, stayed in Montreal, internal surgeon. Jackie's in Toronto doing her residency. Yours here?"

"Oh no, New York. Ballet dancer. If you ask me, there's perfectly good dancing out here too, but no, she has to go for the best."

"I think that's girls for you. They want something, they damn well better get it or they are not happy. I would risk saying women too, but one thing I learnt from my marriage was to keep my opinions on women to myself. They are always wrong and if not, things will be changed around quickly enough for the first part of the statement to be true."

She giggled. "Sounds like mine: the same is true for women's opinions on men." She tilted her wine glass in a tiny toast. "Here's to things learnt in broken marriages."

-x-

At the end of the dinner he asked her to leave with him. She was slightly flustered until he had to amend the question. He wanted to show her his favourite desserts in town. Her response was to ask whether he realised she had been living in the city for a not-insignificant number of years. He assured her that there was nothing to lose even if the place he had in mind was familiar to her and if it turned out she knew somewhere better, he'd be happy to let her take him there next time.

Her only response had been a "Lead on", and he did.

Reading the menu of the place, admittedly somewhere new for her, she kept getting distracted by the buzzing of her phone. On the first buzz her heart jumped into her throat and she was practically ready to flee before even reading the screen. If Rusty needed her, no speed was too much.

Her hurry was more than killed by taking the time to read the screen. Andy.

The sixth time her phone buzzed with Andy's name, Edward (whom she still hadn't asked about another name to call him, but luckily she had stopped thinking him as 'that Tremblay guy' every time) was conveniently getting their desserts and she thought she should take the call and tell Andy to shut up, suck it up and get back to her tomorrow, at the earliest.

"Andy, stop calling me! You know perfectly well I'm busy," she sizzled down the line.

"Yeah, this isn't Andy calling Sharon. This is Lieutenant Flynn calling Captain Raydor to warn her there's a political timebomb on her team's hands and to ask if she could kindly either make an appearance or advice on the best course of action." His voice sounded bored, which she translated to irritated beyond any reason. Must do professional now, Sharon! She snapped to attention.

"I'll be right over, give me fifteen, no, twenty minutes."

"No need for lights and sirens. We can wait the half an hour it takes you to get here from the restaurant."

"I'm not at the restaurant. I'll see you in twenty," she confirmed before hanging up.

Such bad luck! First night out in... how many months? Probably wouldn't do any good to think about the number. She threw the phone in her purse and started pulling her coat on just as Edward rounded another table with two plates in hand.

"Sharon? I thought things weren't going that bad?"

"Well, they're not going at all," she snapped tying the sash of her coat. His startled look made her sigh. "I'm sorry." She smiled apologetically. "I got called in. Thank you for a great evening, and I am sorry I have to go like this." She leaned over to get a taste of her dessert. She made a deep hum in appreciation as she pulled her purse up her arm. "Hate to leave that."

-x-

She was a little hesitant to go to work wearing what she was wearing, but it couldn't be helped. Andy had been calling her long enough for things to look bad, worse, for her to take an hour to go change. Though doing that would have been easier than convincing Rusty on the phone that she was actually, truly, honestly going to work. She told him to call her in the office in fifteen minutes to confirm, or call any one of the team, if he wanted. Somehow "whatever" and hanging up wasn't exactly the answer she was planning for when making the offer.

The last few blocks she spent thinking what she should, or could, do about her make-up. At least the lipstick had to be toned down. Maybe trying to brush her hair would help. She was prepared to swear she never had felt this self-conscious about going to work. And that was before she remembered the wine. She checked her watch. Great. Still drunk.

Walking into the room everyone turned to watch her entrance. Thank you guys, not nearly awkward enough.

Letting it slip without giving or getting a comment, she launched right into the issue at hand.

"Sorry for being late. What's the problem?"

Hearing the whole story (and being pleasantly surprised there were no remarks unrelated to the case), she realised she wasn't getting out quickly. Wearing a trench coat tied tightly closed was going to get ridiculous. Shrugging the coat off, she walked to her office asking Provenza to follow.

Behind her back the team did a double-take, she could feel it. And that was exactly why she took the coat off now rather than in her office: no need for risking another awkward entrance. Or exit, whatever the point of view. What was with the attitude! She wanted to yell them that they'd seen her in a fucking dress before! And it wasn't that good a dress, seriously!

When Provenza thought she was barely out of earshot, he remarked she mustn't be too bad to look at across a candlelit table when she made the effort. In response, there was a faint murmur of agreement and Andy grumbled something unintelligeble remembering how she had been wearing a lot more lipstick when he last laid his eyes on her. Noteworthy was also the fact that the worst, or the best (depending on who she was with), part of the dress hadn't been the lack of length.

-x-

Having assessed the situation, they had come to the conclusion there wasn't much to do before the morning. Reaching that little conclusion had taken a good chunk of the night and it had gone the small hours Sharon was able to leave the office. A fact made more unpleasant by the company she had in the elevator.

Andy had been horrible the whole evening, short and to the point yes, but in that manner of his which clearly was tripping on the line between just regularly pissed off and a hair out of insubordination. The whole team had been less than ecstatic over the late night, but he had been exhibiting a bad case of attitude.

"Thanks for the sunny disposition," he told her. She immediately raised her hackles. Her sunny disposition! What about his! "'Sorry' to cut your evening short." He was petty enough to make the airquotes.

She called him on it. "Thanks for barging on our evening. Nor am I impressed by your petty antics of being the one calling me."

"Hey, when you're out, Proveza's in charge. If he tells me to call you, then it's me calling you."

They were quiet all the way until the street. He followed half a step behind her, all the while imaging the way her dress looked like under the cover of the coat. Dressing for dinner, his ass.

"So you went with him," he let out without the words going through his brain.

Stopping to turn and face him, she didn't even pretend not to know what or whom he meant.

"I had to try him out."

"I see. Well, we men do like to be taken for a test ride."

His snarky tone made her think he meant went-went. "Andy, don't —"

"No, no, it's all great. Hoping for your sake his ride was a little more pleasurable."

"Than what?" She crossed her arms. A chance to get a word in edgewise into his self-righteous peeve would not go amiss.

"Than mine. 'Cause if it wasn't, you lady are one lousy date."

She was flabbergasted. "For that remark only I should tell you good riddance." She shook her head and went to pass him down the curb. "But I guess I deserved it. I'm a shitty date, so much so that I can't even get the invitation."

He grabbed her arm and forced her to look him in the eye. "Are you saying you want me to ask you on a date? Think carefully, because if you want it, I'm going to ask."

"I," she put every emphasis she could cram into her voice on that single letter, "don't want you to do anything. Except to unhand me."

He did, instantly. "Fine. But we're going to have that conversation, mark my words," he said emphatically, stressing his words by waving a finger before her eyes.

"Don't you dare wag your finger at me!" she hissed.

"Don't you go sleeping around with other guys!"

"I don't!"

He looked down her bare legs to the heels that were only remotely office appropriate. If the said office was a fashion magazine, at best. "Really? You certainly dress for the part!"

Feeling the strong impulse to drop her purse, she checked herself. As calmly as she could, she told him, "I'm about two seconds away from slapping you right now. I suggest you walk away and calm down and when that's done, for both of us, we can have that conversation."

All he could do was to glower down at her. She wasn't standing down and met his hard gaze with steel.

"Fine. Where do you want to fight this out?"

She shook her head haughtily. "Oh, I don't plan on fighting. We either have a discussion or leave things at this. You're free to choose whichever you want."

She turned her back on him, crossed her arms and proceeded to wait for a cab.

He watched her standing on the curb, wearing those heels, waiting. The sky was still too close to midnight blue and the air not totally pleasant. "Sharon," he started more measuredly than either of them would have bet he could, "Let me at least give you a ride. I can keep my mouth shut."

She didn't bother turning to see him. Throwing her hair back she kept her eyes on the street.

"Don't bother. I think I'm so over you right now."

* * *

**A/N: **_Corrections on my science not welcomed. If the Dr made errors, he's a nervous fool. If Sharon did, she's just as bad as I am at remembering this stuff correctly. ;)_


	29. Chapter 29: The Right Love

**Chapter 29: The Right Love**

When she wanted something, she went for it. Her parents always called her admirably strong-willed, others called her cantankerously obstinate.

-x-

On their first date Jack had picked her up on a motorcycle. They rode out for a picnic in the hills, and once there she took a large breath of the fresh air before turning to him.

"Are you having problems with your bike?" she asked, concerned.

"No, it runs perfectly."

"Then what was with all those stops and jerks? You sure it's fine?"

At that he grinned widely. "Just wanted to feel your body on mine."

She giggled and he approached with a desire to kiss her.

"I don't kiss guys on first dates," she said dodging his lips, them ending on her cheek.

"But that's not to say guys can't kiss you?" he replied suggestively and started kissing her jaw, then moving on to her neck and to her chest when her half-hearted attempts at laughing him off turned into her pushing herself closer instead of pushing him away.

Before returning home, he got to feel her supple body with his hands and lips as well as his back.

-x-

She loved him wildly, madly, passionately, possessively, desperately.

-x-

She had passed a store every day for two weeks straight. On the window was a green dress she knew she wanted to have. Her only reasoning for not getting was that she had nowhere to wear it. When Jack told her about a luncheon they would attend to network, to further his blossoming career, to get her that one step closer to law school, she knew the winning dress.

Practically glowing, she finished dressing with putting on her ear rings. Seeing Jack enter and look her from head to toe with hungry eyes, she felt she had the winner.

A little surprisingly, he asked her, "Should you wear that red dress instead?"

"Why? Don't you like this?"

"I do, but I'm wearing a red tie," he replied picking on said item.

"You could change your tie."

He smiled crookedly and winked. "Red's much nicer colour on you."

"Thank you," she said kissing his cheek on her way to change.

-x-

She needed him back, fully, completely, enthusiastically, tirelessly.

-x-

A new house, a new baby, a renovation. He was busy working, she was busy herding the carpenters. She read interior decorating magazines like sheep eat grass. Her mind set on white decorative valances, she ran into a brick wall she called her husband.

"As soon as you spent every minute of your days in this house, you're welcome to choose valances or no valances," she told him on no uncertain terms, tired of being locked inside all day, not being able to go anywhere.

They ended up fighting about it for a day, her finally going behind his back and having the valances installed while he was out. Next Saturday, after her and the baby's nap she woke up to a living-room with no valances.

That night in bed, wrapped around him, she cried for getting disappointed, for losing the fight, for being tired. He stroked her hair, not knowing what this latest mood swing was about.

Finally, feeling better, she snuggled even closer, kissing his jaw softly. "Couldn't you have let me keep the valances because they made me happy?" she asked.

Rolling above her, he brushed her hair away from her face. "Sweets, I really hated the valances." He smiled down at her and started showering her skin with deep and burning kisses, the only punctuation he needed for his assertion. "Really, really, really hated them."

Intoxicated with the love he made her feel, she giggled and let the ceiling above know, "Okay, if it's that important to you."

-x-

Throughout her life she'd been told she was stubborn, one way or another. She had been led to believe what she got, she had wanted.

* * *

**A/N:** _I sorta wrote myself into a corner with _Midnight_, so if you have any ideas/suggestions/wishes where to go, do tell.  
This chapter is a throwaway, pretty much deleted stuff from an earlier chapter, leaving a door open for additional chapter or jumping on to the original one. If jumping on, I'll probably repost this with the original content (different theme).  
Next ch... when I know what it needs to be. A Talk, possibly The Talk, at least. I'm leaving the country tomorrow, but hope to post ch30 ASAP.  
Sorry for hugely disappointing chs (this and probably next)._  
_  
To the Guest who remarked that ch28's fit was a little weird: I share the sentiment. I'm trying my hardest to make Sharon explain herself in ch30. Andy keeps distracting her too much for it to work. :)  
(Originally I thought to add the conversation about the reason in ch28 [where exactly, Sharon will tell herself later], but ended up cutting those scenes. It was long enough as it was. Ch30 is even longer, sorry. Ideally it would be split at least in two, with some extra scenes to both halves. But I try to use delete properly, I think this is getting a little too long.)  
To the other Guest: I'm mean, but I'm not *that* mean. They will talk. Too much, if anything. :) If they actually say something, that's a different story...  
To the third(?) Guest: the plan was to have 30 chapters. That's the number I've had in mind when building chapters. Sorry. Got a few themes unused, so *in theory* I could add some chapters... If needed... ;)  
Klara: thanks! Not sure I believe, but I want to know what's the #1? :B_

_Thanks for all the comments, love you guys! _

_... gotta love these chapters with more notes than content. XD Ch30's different, promise._


	30. Chapter 30: Again

**Chapter 30: Again**

They were professionals getting back to work a few hours later. He wanted to start by telling her he was sorry for jumping on things he had no right to, but seeing most of the team already present, he knew it would keep and she would appreciate him not dragging their off-duty relationship in with him more.

Going again over all they knew and checking for some responses and details that had come in during their so-called night, they gathered all the material close to the whiteboard and started updating. Tasks were handed out and started on. Sharon wanted to start by going through the gathered evidence available herself. Andy was on his way to collate information from the responding officers.

He stopped behind her, ghosting a touch of his fingers on her elbow, so light it ended up being more of a visual cue than a touch, pretending to check something over her shoulder, at the same time handing her the right size gloves for handling the evidence.

"I'm sorry," he said lowly, almost whispering in her ear. "You know I want to be your friend still, after the discussion. If you'll have me, with my big mouth and all."

She smiled for her folder, replying just as quietly, "We'll talk about it."

-x-

The political crisis averted, the case pretty much wrapped up, Sharon slouched home. It felt like a day that never ended even if they made out early. When having a long day, you should accomplish a lot.

Following her coming home ritual, having changed into something a little less office, and asking Rusty about his day (his answers were monosyllabic at best and she got the impression his laptop was way much more interesting than her), she curled up on the couch and pulled her phone out.

Finding Andy's name, and silently congratulating herself she had not removed his first name this time around (maybe her manners were finally graduating from junior high), she tapped him a simple text.

'Home. Let me explain?'

She waited for him to answer practically instantly like he often did, but her phone kept quiet, no flashing lights in sight. Sighing, she leaned back and started mentally putting dishes together from the contents of her fridge. Making food seemed a like too much of an effort, but she would get there eventually.

After fifteen minutes and scratching off the eighth dish on her mental list (no carrots!), she was startled to hear a knock on her door.

Like confirming the emerging pattern it was turning out to be, she opened her door to Andy's, this time, serious face. Without a greeting he launched on to what he had clearly come in to say.

"I apologize for every stupid remark I slung your way. You know I'm an idiot. And you must know I like that dress, a little too much if anything." He finished the breathless account with a smirk. "And I did not flash my badge, your neighbor let me in. Are you calm now?"

She showed him in. "I am, and you know I accept. And I apologize for my own stupid remarks." He wasn't sure what they might have been, but stepping over the threshold far enough for her to close the door, nodded still. "More than that, I apologize for my behaviour," she added.

Andy shook his head. Her behaviour was all reaction and he had more important things to worry about. "Can we finish the conversation?"

She glanced down the hall. "I don't want to do it here. Rusty's home."

His first answer was a smirk. "What, you afraid I might raise my voice?"

"Well, it's been known to happen." She flashed him a smile.

"Then can you come somewhere?" he pleaded, all joking aside.

She thought about his place (too risky), a restaurant (too risky for other reasons), the beach (she wasn't feeling like the sand). "Park," she concluded, "two blocks from here." She waited for him to nod before turning to get her keys and phone, shouting, "Rusty, I'm stepping out! Be back in twenty!"

"An hour," came Andy's quietly hopeful correction. She met his eyes.

"Okay." To Rusty, "An hour!"

"Can you bring pizza?" Rusty shouted from his room.

"No, you need to eat better!"

"Then bring one of those silly things Flynn likes! They've got vegetables!"

"And a million unhealthy things!"

"He's a vegetarian!"

"Who needs to eat better too! If he plans to stick around," she added quietly for the man in question.

"Sharon, he's old, like your age! He's not dead yet, how bad can he eat!"

"He's right, I'm not dead yet," Andy affirmed staring into her eyes. She didn't look away, but made no comment especially for him, only the one loud enough for Rusty to hear, "Right, no one else our age is alive!"

"I know! So you should get on with it!"

"Rusty!" She didn't know how to else warn him without letting Andy's presence to be known or him continuing with something embarrassing Andy would latch on to, so she ushered Andy in front of her and went for the door. "I'm going!"

"Pizza!"

"No!"

When she locked the door and they started down the corridor, Andy's surprised amusement had matured into full-blown chuckles. "He had no idea I was standing right there?" he asked rhetorically. "Do you always talk about me like that?" he really asked guiding her into the elevator.

"Absolutely, only with less volume," she delivered deadpan before meeting his eyes and smiling teasingly. "Why? Does it stroke your male ego?"

"Actually it does." She pursed her lips. "What did he mean by 'you should get on with it'?"

"Nothing." In an effort to disguise her white lie, she feigned a need to check her phone. Shrugging, "Too long a conversation for him. Probably bothered his chess."

"What does he say about Doctor Doolittle?" he let out before really thinking.

"Andy! A little respect wouldn't go amiss."

"It was a joke, swear to God." He knew damn well they hadn't met and suspected Sharon hadn't told Rusty about her date, but he wanted to see what she would say, maybe even catch her of a lie to soothe his own conscience. "How does Rusty like the Good Doctor?"

"He doesn't. They haven't met, officially. Yet."

Yet? She was planning on introducing them? It wasn't the answer he was looking for. Well, maybe it was time for Rusty to learn French. His teeth ground at the thought. Next holiday he had, he was going to damn Provence, France.

She steered them across the road and towards the park.

Picking up on the old subject (he definitely wanted to milk this as long as it was going to give), he feigned casualness. "Oh, I thought you would have told him before you were going on a date and who with."

"Rusty knew I was going. He wasn't too comfortable with it."

Good boy! he thought, but said nothing out loud.

"I'm guessing his mother's dates were a little different from mine. And I would never let him know I have a date like that just out of the blue. Even if him and Edward," he winced at hearing her say the guy's name with dulcet tones, "have seen each other before." She gave him an odd look that quickly ended with pursed lips and a hum. "Jealousy is not actually where you shine at, especially when you have no right."

For a few seconds he was slightly disconcerted of her seeing all through his roundabout pryings. Then he remembered he had been pretty obvious last night.

"You know I want that right," he said earnestly, steering them to a bench. She nodded, but didn't sit down. "Not having it only makes things worse. Though it scares me." She was intrigued. 'It' what? The same 'it' making her terrified? "We fight like no two people I know."

She chuckled. Yeah, same 'it'. "I know. My fault for adding fuel to the flames."

"It's not your responsibility to keep my temper in check," he asserted taking a seat.

"No, but how many times I could have stopped you with simply placing my hand on your arm and I didn't? Saying a word you wanted to hear? Insisting on finishing an explanation? The thing is, almost always I knew the moment I could do it, yet I never did. I almost wanted to see you blow up. To test you."

"You wanted to see if you could handle it?" He tried to read her face before, with sadness, asking, "Was fighting with Jack that bad?"

She waded deep in her thoughts and he started to feel sorry, furious, for her. When she didn't say anything for a while, he reached out in an effort to pull her close. She pretended not to notice.

"I'm a horrible person to fight with," she finally let out.

"I know. I always feel like shit when we do. No one should ever fight with you. Just take a deep breath, listen to what you say and count their lucky stars you bother to give them the time of the day."

To his surprise the complimenting made her snap. "Don't put me on a pedestal. You keep trying that, I don't want it." She took a deep breath, sitting down, her eyes forward, mindful of not getting too close. "I'm a horrible, self-righteous bitch with some redeeming qualities."

He couldn't help the laugh. The arm around her waist he could, but only after it had already made a start on its way. "Yes you are. Best description of you I've ever heard."

She glanced at him with reproach. "I'm being serious."

"Yeah. I know you're not perfect, but you either have to step the bitch act up a little, a lot, or acquire some less stellar redeeming qualities for me not to admire you." He studied her for a long moment. "Though I still don't know why you went with him."

"You mean besides him being a tall foreign doctor with blue eyes, speaking fluent French?"

"Yeah," he growled. "It's not like any of those actually appeal to women at large."

"I know," she deadpanned. "But honestly?"

"Honestly."

"Because he happened to ask at the right moment. Twice."

The guy had asked her out twice? That was the reason? When had that happened? Suddenly he felt very foolish for not trying to persist with the matter. Maybe he should have asked her out simply and plainly, with no roundabout manners or pretences. Or not be discouraged with the first no.

All in all, he wasn't buying it, not right now. "That's all?"

"Yes. Mostly."

"So if Provenza had asked you out, you'd have said yes?"

She laughed, but lied, "Yes."

"I have to tell him he missed his one true chance."

"Oh, realistically he lost his chances about two minutes before I sent his old partner into a sexual harassment seminar. You don't want to hear the story."

"Oh, but I do." He really, really, did.

"No, you don't." She looked him up and down. "Or I'll let you have a choice. I tell you the story or we'll talk about your chances." A little one-sided shrug and an enticing smile. "I'm fine with either."

"Not both?"

"No."

He feigned contemplation, though the choice was a no-brainer. "As much as I love hearing the asinine things Provenza has done, that shrug could make me forget even his name. Besides, I can ask him."

She grinned at him. He got serious again. This was the deal.

"So, if I had asked, you'd have said yes?"

"No," she answered simply, again looking straight ahead.

"I thought you just said you wouldn't have been picky. Was it because I pressured you?"

She shook her head. "I wasn't. But it would still have been a no for you. We did agree on mulling things over?"

He grudgingly agreed, "Yeah. I didn't know it included you hooking up with the next guy walking by." Instantly realising this was again going down on the wrong route, he added, "Sorry, didn't mean like that."

She shook her head, again. No use getting stuck on things neither of them meant or cared about. "For me, it did. I wasn't sure it wasn't about the first man who was easy to be with, who didn't want things from me."

She carefully avoided naming the 'it', again, but Andy knew. He was practically giddy over an acknowledgement that big. And 'I wasn't sure' sounded very promising... A damn sight better than 'I am not sure'.

"I do want things from you," he felt it necessary to mention.

"I know. But not the things people usually do."

"By people you mean men."

Again with a shrug, this time regular, serious, almost morose. "I tried not to promise you anything."

"You didn't, believe me, I know you didn't."

"Perhaps I should have told you I was seeing him."

"Might be a good thing you didn't. Probably would have forbid you or something as good and you'd still gone, twice as defiantly." He glanced straight ahead as well, wringing his hands, but returned to watching her profile. "Besides, you didn't, don't, owe me anything, not my place to say where you should or shouldn't go. If you want to go, you go. Whatever makes you happy. You're free to have anything you want."

Her insides were smiling brighter than the California sun at midday.

"I'm very glad I went." The tightening of his hand told her he really wasn't. "And it was a good date. One of the best first dates I've been on." If you ignored the part where she realised she didn't give anything of herself; he probably knew more of both Andy and Rusty than her right now. She did, and kept talking. "He's easy to be with. He could make me laugh. He's not too bad to look at. He could read me. Not well, of course, but enough to make me know he was interested, willing and capable to learn.

He's a good flirt when he's not too nervous. And he is nervous around women. Well, at least he is with me. It's reassuring, quite attractive really." She checked his reaction, it read as dark and stormy. Good. "We have things in common. He's smarter than me and I like that a lot. He's calm and even. He calms me." She secretly glanced at him from the corner of her eyes and went for the kill with a breathy voice. "And he speaks charming French."

She had no real way of knowing that. The only French words she had heard him say were two names of wines, 'Montreal' and 'ganache'.

He, however, couldn't possibly know that. She practically heard his jaw tightening.

"Sharon," he said warningly, totally forgetting his joy over her earlier past tenses, "this is starting to sound a lot like a girl telling her best friend how she's met 'the one' and I have to admit I'm not really liking it."

"I'm no 'girl', she said sternly."

Facing him with an affectedly blank expression, she found his face a disco ball of emotions, mostly on a scale from furious to heart-broken. She watched the show for a while before leaning her head against his shoulder, and feeling him startle, she, being already hard-pressed not to laugh, grinned widely.

She turned her head to him and paused to adopt a low tone.

Finally, achieving the seriousness which she felt, she vocalized her final conclusion.

"So this is me telling you you're better than him."

* * *

**A/N:** _Short and sweet. :) Overdose in fluff in imminent. This was split from the original ch30._

_It's also time to start (re)thinking about the ending. Old ch32, current ch34, "'First Date'" (not real working title, just to clue you in and not give too much away) was supposed to be the last one, but I just don't know. I could end this on something else, like first real kiss, first 'I love you's, first night together, first time out in public... Got them all written, so the problem's not that, just don't know. Ideas/opinions/wishes?_

_Also, starting to get miffed about not posting the Valentine's Day section I wrote. It keeps milling about in my notes section distracting me since the notes get fewer and fewer. Kinda want to go back and add it into ch10 to mess up the timeline even more. :B_

_Next one tomorrow, I hope._


End file.
